After the Bat
by Summersfan
Summary: John Blake was given a legacy, and a city to protect. Follows my fic Shadow of the Bat. Post DKR.
1. Chapter 1

After the Bat – Chapter 1

Summary: John Blake was given a legacy, and a city, to protect.

Author's Note:

This is written roughly as a sequel to my previous crossover fic, Shadow of the Bat, although the crossover elements are less important here. Just take it as a given that this is taking place in an amalgam universe where Smallville happened; Superman is around and active now, as is Green Arrow. Chloe knows the secret. This picks up from the end of The Dark Knight Returns.

….I don't need a spoiler warning for DKR, do I? Consider this your only warning.

1.

For starters, John Blake had no idea how to be a ninja.

That was how the Bat operated, right? Appear from the darkness, swoop in, use some kind of kung fu, drop men to the ground before they even knew he was there?

Yeah, Blake couldn't do that.

So here he was, in the middle of the night, hanging out on the roof of a car park, using a fancy surveillance device to listen to people's conversations.

There was a rhythm to it. People came through silently, alone. People came in pairs, talking. Illicit trysts. Drug deals.

He ignored that all.

The girl, Chloe Sullivan, had been utterly right in her assessment. He wasn't the Bat. He wasn't anywhere near where he needed to be to replace the Bat. For starters, he was too normal. Not driven enough.

Secondly, he had no idea how he was supposed to bring down a guy like Oswald Cobblepot.

And what the hell kind of name was Cobblepot?

He heard a new set of footsteps, and he sat up straighter on the roof. This was Cobblepot and his men.

Cobblepot stood a hair over four feet tall, and had a little pot belly. He wasn't even slightly physically imposing. Soft-spoken, always wearing formal wear—he was like something out of a movie. Too nice and polite to be a gangster, a mafioso.

He was also ruthless and deadly.

Blake hunkered down, turning up the collar of the new suit. It was just a modified combat suit, one of the ones built more for armor than for speed. Blake wasn't very fast anyway, just a guy in a complicated bulletproof suit.

The new mask tried to look smaller than it was. It was good. He liked it. It didn't have the ears, just the cowl, but that helped. He wasn't the Bat.

Cobblepot began speaking. The voice was tinny in Blake's ear. "So, doctor, what have you got for me?"

The doctor was the tragically nervous and definitely insane Dr. Boyle, Blake was pretty sure. "I'm definitely on to something. It's big, it's fast, it's deadly, and so far I've been able to control it... er, in a laboratory setting. Are you sure it has to be ready to fight?"

"Do you watch the news, Dr. Boyle? Every year we have more and more of this outrageousness—aliens invading, ancient greek gods invading, interdimensional portals to eldritch horrors. And have you seen this big blue boy scout? That one worries me. So much naïve goodness, so much power. I need power capable of stopping him dead."

"He hardly ever comes out of Metropolis unless the world is at stake. Are you sure you aren't worried about... well. There are rumors it's still alive."

Cobblepot let out a sigh. "My dear doctor, there is nothing. No bat, nothing. If there were then he would have already stopped us from doing what we are doing."

This was the most perfect straight line in the history of straight lines. Blake adjusted the harness, blew the window open with a single blast of explosives, and flung himself through the opening.

No cape. He had never been able to get the hang of the cape. It was always getting in his way, slowing him down, nearly getting him killed. And the new armor was stripped-down, utilitarian.

The harness that enabled him to swing around and drop so quickly, coming to a near perfect stop in the middle of the group of gangsters, that was bright blue, a contrast to the muted black of the rest of the costume. That was a shame. It stood out. He was going to need to paint it, and he wished he'd done it sooner.

They tried going for their guns, but he had the stun-gun up already, and blasted the one reaching for a gun. It was a sonic stunner, something less potentially lethal than a taser. Just as capable of disabling a grown man for hours.

The muted impact of the sonic blast set his teeth on edge, but he managed to pick off all the gangsters, leaving him standing there with the doctor and Cobblepot.

He had tried so hard to mimic the Batman's voice, but it was impossible. It hurt like hell, and didn't sound anywhere near as good. So he had a menacing whisper he'd been working on. "Don't you dare try to run this kind of operation in my town," he hissed out.

Cobblepot gave him a cynical once-over. "So you're the reason my men are jumping at every noise; a low-rent copy of the Bat."

Blake sneered. "You keep this operation going the way it has been, and I will shut you down."

Cobblepot crossed his arms. "You will, eh?"

A rope snapped across Blake's chest, whipping him off his feet and slamming him to the floor. He tried to roll with it, but the armor weighed him down, and another henchman came out of nowhere, pinning his arms.

And Blake had no kung fu.

"Take his mask off," ordered Cobblepot, approaching. The henchman tore it off, not even caring that he ripped it as he did so, destroying the mask. Cobblepot stared down at Blake for a minute, frowning. "I have no idea who the hell you are, but I guess knowing you can't walk into any rooms with me just because you don't have the mask on is reward enough."

Blake's heart was hammering away. Was this it? Was he going to get a double-tap in the head?

Cobblepot crouched down to get closer. "Kid, I'm going to do you a solid and let you go."

Blake stared at him, trying not to show how surprised he was. "Uh, okay."

Cobblepot chuckled. "'Okay.' Kid, you are way over your head. Did you think I didn't know you were out there, didn't take the precaution of hiring somebody who can handle you? Did you think...? No, not for a second. No thought. Listen, I'm letting you live because that suit looks like one of his and I wouldn't be alive today if he hadn't saved the city, and I like to think I pay my debts. So you get one freebie, because he saved my life, but I'll be damned if you get two. You start playing with my boys' heads again, I will find you. I will use this picture..." He lifted his phone, snapping a picture of Blake's face. "I will hunt you down, and I will kill you. That's a second chance, that's more than most people get. Do not test me on this. Okay, Joe, let the psycho go."

Blake tensed himself, ready to try to regain the advantage. But another goon was standing there with a gun pointed at him.

"No, go ahead," said Cobblepot. "Do be impressive, swoop away. Show off your technology. Fly."

Blake ran and jumped over the railing, plummeting down to the bottom floor, and sprinted to the shadows.

Humiliating.

2.

The dojo was empty when he went in. She was sitting on a bench, wrapping up her left fore-arm in tape, and he approached her head-on, tossing down a bag full of cash. "I need a black belt," he told her.

She peered into the bag, then looked up at him with her mouth twisted into a smile. There was a scar on her upper lip where it had been split, and another one under one eye. "This a joke?" she asked. Her voice was terse. Almost no traces of the Italian accent she should have had, being born there and immigrating.

"You were an MMA champ until your injury, and the word is that you train women who need a little self-defense. Well, I got beat up recently, and I want a black belt."

"Black belts are years of discipline and training. What you want is some pepper spray, a three hour course on situational awareness."

He took a deep breath. "I used to be a cop."

Her eyes narrowed. "And you got beat up?"

"Listen, I made some enemies, I need to be..."

"Just buy another gun, right?" Dismissive. She didn't think much of cops.

"I really need this."

She got up slowly, kicking the bag of cash. "It's your money to burn, but it's going to be a total waste of time." Standing she was a little taller than him, her shoulders a little wider than his.

She lashed out, punching him in the face suddenly. He found himself tumbling to the ground, landing badly. "What the hell?" he snarled, trying to get up.

"Lesson one; you're standing too close to me, too flat-footed. And you're a little fit, but you want to be a fighter, you got to train a lot more. We'll get you a regimen. Now, come on, get up. Fair warning, I'm going to hit you again."

3.

Jason found Tim in the old part of the Home, the part that hadn't been renovated yet. He was sitting underneath a piano, staring at the wall. Messy hair going every which way.

The older orphan slid in beside him, tousling the messy black hair. "So, Tim, my boy," he said, his voice already rough and low. "How is it?"

Tim shook his head. He was sixteen, and had a sense of justice. "I need to get out and talk to her. Just one conversation."

Jason ran a hand through his own hair. Red hair, bad temper, that was the stereotype, wasn't it? But he didn't feel bad-tempered. He was able to keep his cool under all circumstances, think these things through.

Sometimes the conclusions he reached seemed a little hasty, a little mean, but he was reasoning through them, not just blindly lashing out. It was an important distinction, one he wished they'd all remember.

"I do have a way to sneak out, but it's a long way into town, a long way back. We'd have to be like the wind, and it would have to be a fast conversation. And, listen, if the chatter around here is right, then she is going down. And you can't save her, you understand that?"

Tim Drake grimaced. "This would all be okay if my dad would just wake up from his damn coma."

"Would it?"

"It would! He would just fix this. He was a lawyer, you know. Before."

"Before."

"Yeah. Okay, tonight?"

"Nuh-uh. Nurse Ratchet saw you get the bad news—she'll be on the lookout tonight. Tonight you're a good little boy, tossing and turning in his bed. Handling it. Tomorrow you'll be calm, you'll be cool as a cucumber, and she will never see this coming."

Tim growled, frustrated. "Easy for you to put it off a day."

Jason cocked an eyebrow at the younger boy. "No chick is worth getting busted for, Timmy. Especially not this one."

Tim glared at him. "But you'll help me?"

"Of course. Tomorrow night."

Jason didn't have that sense of justice that Tim had—it didn't bother him at all that a great injustice was being perpetrated, that she was being wronged.

But he'd go to the wall for any of his pals. He'd said it before, and he'd say it again.

4.

"What do we know for sure?" asked Gordon, although he was already pretty sure.

"I got some amateur video, shot on a cell phone. It's his gear, all right, but the guy using it definitely isn't him. Look at this." She tapped on the screen of her phone, and the video began playing. Gordon watched the kid get taken down hard, and his stomach twisted.

"They kill him?" he asked, suddenly feeling very, very old.

Montoya leaned back in her chair, grimacing. "They let him go with a warning."

"What?"

"The little guy, he's... I don't want to say he's not vicious, because he is, but he operates on some kind of code. Keeps his nose pretty clean. Pays his debts. I can't hear what he says, but it's pretty clearly a warning."

"Is that the new guy? Oswald?"

"Yeah."

Gordon scowled at the image of the well-dressed man. "So now we have the mafia sticking their head up in Gotham, for the first time since..."

"It was only a matter of time. Now that they know he's gone..."

"Right. And this kid tried to put some of that fear back in them, and he nearly got himself killed. For what?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Think you could track him down?"

Montoya sucked in a deep breath. "I think I could. Do you want me to?"

Gordon frowned. "What is that supposed to mean?"

She leaned over his desk. "I was here in Gotham, when Bane took the city. I was trapped in those tunnels with the other guys."

"Oh?" Gordon wracked his memory. "I don't seem to recall..."

"Before I made detective. Started at the bottom, sir. You wouldn't do this to him, sir, go after him."

"This isn't him, and this damn fool kid is going to get himself killed if he doesn't watch it. We aren't taking him down, Montoya, we're saving him from himself." He took a deep breath, remembering all the people who'd died. "There was only one like him."

5.

Helena pulled Blake up, off the floor, and he staggered over and dropped into a chair. She looked amused.

He hurt all over. How on earth was he supposed to get any better at this by being knocked down a hundred times, anyway?

He didn't ask. He grabbed the water bottle and gulped down as much as he could.

"Who recommended my dojo to you, anyway?" she asked.

"Huh?"

"Who told you? I operate strictly by word of mouth, and most the people I work with come to me a little more... ready."

He shrugged. "A friend."

"Which one?" she persisted.

He decided to change the subject. "Word is you were busted out of the league for throwing fights."

She scowled at him. "Is that so?"

"Yeah, and that you nearly killed a guy."

She shrugged, looking away. "Look, we've been making some pretty solid progress, and you haven't bounced a single check so far, but we're coming to the end of the my normal three hour self defense course. If you want to keep on with me, then you're going to have to tell me who referred you."

He didn't want to. Knowledge was power, and this particular person had all his secrets. He didn't want Helena comparing notes with her. "Then I guess this is it for us."

She gave him a sour glare. "That's what I thought. Next time you see him, let him know I'm not afraid of him, and he can come over and take a shot any time he thinks he can handle it."

Blake frowned. "I'm not—I don't understand."

She grabbed his arm, yanking him to his feet. "Look, buddy, let's just put all our cards on the table. I know who you are, you know who I am, and we both know why you're here."

"I think you have me confused for somebody else," he said.

"I think you need to go to some other dojo where you're welcome. Now get out." She gave him a not-so-gentle shove towards the door.

He headed for it, grimacing as he went.

6.

It was a long way back to town from the Home. Jason and Tim had their bikes, and they went as fast as they dared down the side of the road. When they got into town Tim led the way, through some of the worst parts of town.

Into the Narrows.

When they got to Steph's apartment building, Jason took up a post out front, leaning against the wall, holding the two bikes. He looked up the side of the building. "Sure you can get up there, kiddo?"

Tim shrugged, hopping a few times in place to loosen up. "Piece of cake."

Jason rolled his eyes. "Just go, please."

Tim got a running start at the building, jumping up and grabbing hold of the bars on the first floor window, kicking off the little lip just enough to get up, on top of the window. From there he jumped sideways, catching the little ledge just over the first floor.

Jason always got a kick out of watching Tim's little parkour stunts. "Circus freak," he said, just a tad affectionately.

Tim made his way up to the third-floor window, which didn't have bars on it, and tapped three times.

There was a long pause, and then the window opened, and Tim slipped inside.

Stephanie was inside, leaning against the wall. Her hair was mussed, her eyes were red-rimmed, and she looked more beautiful to Tim than ever.

"Hey," she said. "What's up?"

"How'd it go in court today?" he asked, closing the window.

She shrugged. "They've decided that dad's going to jail for ten years or so—less than he deserves, really. And they decided I'll be tried as a minor, and probably go to juvie, so there's that. And the judge said he'd give some thought to getting me out of juvie and set up somewhere before the baby comes." She put a hand on her stomach, which was just starting to show. "So, all things considered, not too shabby."

Tim sighed, leaning against the wall on the other side of the window. "Listen, if you want to run away now, we can do it."

She snorted. "Oh, Tim, you're such a little kid sometimes."

"No, I'm serious. I got Jason Todd."

"Shouldn't he be in juvie? I swear he should be in juvie."

"They couldn't prove nothing, so they're just watching him."

"Right."

"No, listen, you have options. Jason and me, we could break you out of here, we could hit the road."

"And do what? My only marketable skill is what my dad taught me, and he's going to prison for that right now. Jason Todd is going to grow up someday, but right now he's an angry kid who beats people up. And Tim, I love you, but this isn't the circus. And what happens when your dad wakes up out of his coma and finds out his kid ran off? I'll do my time, and when I get out I'll try to figure out how I can take care of this baby... hell, they were on me again to give it away, but I don't want to. It's my kid."

Tim groaned, rubbing a hand over his eyes. "Steph..."

"No. You've been probably the best boyfriend I ever had, and you have a clean record. Shit like this could finish you, could get you the kind of record that destroys you. I'm not going to be the one who does that to a kid like you. And stop hanging out so much with Jason. He's not as nice as you think he is."

Tim shrugged. "Yeah, probably. Okay. Be well. I'll try to stay in touch."

7.

Jason didn't ask a lot of questions as they cycled home. Just the one that Tim didn't want to hear. "So, do you have a plan?"

Tim didn't answer for a little while, just concentrating on the road dimly illuminated in front of them. Trying to ignore the dark trees towering over them, how very far they were from the city. Suburbia freaked him out, sometimes.

Jason spat, then moved closer. "See, this is the problem with lies. Eventually, they catch up to you, and all the little different lives you've lived get you. Dumb-ass. What'cha gonna do about her?"

Tim shrugged, leaning forward. Pedal faster, harder, make it home before seven, when they would count the orphans. Faster. Ignore Jason.

Jason kept up with him effortlessly. "She's special, right? She's the one you want to save, want to keep safe? But you're just a kid still, and when you say 'I love her,' people don't listen, cuz who listens to kids? Dude, slow up, pace yourself."

"I can do this all night," said Tim stubbornly.

Jason laughed. "I bet you tell all the good-looking guys that."

Tim flushed, but he knew better than try to respond. Jason could out-mouth anybody, anywhere.

Jason shook his head, sighing. "Once social services is involved—you know they don't give up, right?"

Tim was feeling short on breath. His throat was tight. "If I wanted to just take her and go..."

"Live on the street? Kid. I been out there. If you wanna go that way, I won't help you, period."

Tim wasn't sure how he could do this without Jason's help. "She wants the baby."

"Yeah, well, it's her kid. It ain't your kid. Try to have a little perspective."

"Jason... I told her if she wanted to go we'd just go."

"Uh-huh? See what I mean about lying?"

"She said no. She said all she's got is what her dad taught me, and you aren't... she doesn't..."

"I'm just one good fight away from being tossed back in juvie, one really good fight from being tried as an adult?"

"And she was talking about going to juvie and getting out and getting set up someplace—what kind of place can they set her up in?"

Jason's bike wobbled a little. "They'll help out a little. If she gets out and you're out trying to hold down a boring real job, trying to keep it together, then maybe it'll be easier. Maybe then you two can give it a real shot, and nobody will stop you."

Tim exhaled harshly, still angry. "They shouldn't try to stop us now."

"Be cool, play the long game, kid. Best bet."

8.

Blake caught them at the waterfall, breaking into the cave. He panicked for a second, thinking that somehow Cobblepot had managed to find him, before realizing that they were kids.

In the dark they didn't see the whole cave—they were taking the tunnel back up to the mansion, going around the important parts.

He followed them quietly. The possibility of one of the orphans upstairs finding the door to the cave had never occurred to him. This was ridiculous. He'd have to block the passageway somehow.

He wasn't a ninja.

The shorter of the two spun around, shining his little penlight right at Blake. "Shit!" exploded the kid.

"Is it the nurse?" asked the taller one, breaking away and stepping into the shadows.

The short one was staring. Blake wasn't wearing the gear, just his civilian clothes. "You kids shouldn't be down here," he said, trying to put a little cop-voice into it.

"You shouldn't be here," replied the kid. He was peering at Blake's face, which was not good. "What is that you're wearing?"

Blake glanced down at his clothes. Just the civvies, right? Oh, and the grappling harness, bright blue and obvious. He used it to get in and out of the cave now—easier than the rappelling gear. "What?"

"I saw that. On the videos. Jason! Jason! That's the bat-guy!"

"Hey, now," said Blake.

The taller one, Jason, broke out of the shadows. Somehow he'd managed to get up close quietly. He swung a fist right at Blake's nose.

Helena's training might have been only the basics, but for a three-hour course it was _good._ He blocked the blow, spinning out away from the boy, and swept his legs out from under him.

As the one kid tumbled down the shorter boy came running. Blake turned, raising his hands in a defensive mode.

The kid grabbed him by the wrists, hands like vises, and somehow yanked hard. Blake was off balance for only a second, but the kid was tumbling, in a free fall, his feet swinging up over his head, somehow wrapping both legs around Blake's neck.

Blake stumbled backwards, losing his balance and falling, trying to pry the kid off him. But those hands were holding his wrists, and his legs couldn't seem to get an effective kick, and he couldn't _breathe_, and everything was turning black-

He tried to fight, tried to keep his eyes open.

It had been just a kid, for Christ's sake!

He passed out.


	2. Chapter 2

After the Bat – Chapter 2

Summary: John Blake was given a legacy, and a city, to protect.

1.

Blake woke up with a splitting headache, tied up in the middle of the cave.

The boys were exploring.

The younger one noticed he was awake first, and came running, sliding into a crouch in front of him. "Go on, tell him!" he demanded.

Blake blinked a few times, trying to get his feet under him. How the hell had one of the orphans taken him down so fast, so hard? "Tell him what?" he asked, wondering how dumb he could play. What he could get away with.

The older of the two—had the kid called him Jason?-came striding over. He had his hands stuck deep in his pockets. "Tell me if you're Batman, go on."

"What? Batman? What makes you say that?" he asked weakly.

Jason took his hands out of his pockets, holding up the little metal bat symbols. "Well, for starters, this is his stuff. But Timmy says you ain't him."

"No way," said Tim. "For starters, that hold I did on you? That was a pretty simple hold. There's a couple ways to break it. No way I could get the Bat with that. You're this new guy. But you have his stuff. You got his stuff after it all blew up."

The older boy crouched over him. "You're Blake," he said.

Blake twitched. "What?"

"Oh, come on. I was in the home? When you came around all those times? You used to be one of us. And you're a cop now. He's a cop, Timmy."

The younger kid made a face. "You're a cop? And trying to do this thing? That's nuts. They'll find you out just about right away."

Blake blinked at them a few times, trying to figure out how to get the advantage back. "You kids could get in big trouble."

"We could get in big trouble?" Jason laughed. "Saw you on the news the other day. You're not very good at this—you're not the Batman."

Blake strained against the ropes—they didn't give at all.

The shorter one, Tim, tucked his legs under him, frowning. "So, I'm a little confused. Is anybody else confused?"

"Nope," said Jason.

"How did he get this stuff?"

"Bruce Wayne," replied Jason.

"Oh, come on now," said Blake. "How could you possibly figure that?"

"This was his place, wasn't it? I thought these caves were just an old way in and out without being seen, but there's more down here, isn't there? There's a whole thing back there with computers and stuff, state of the art. I bet his cars and stuff are down here."

"The cars got blown up," said Blake, feeling stupid. "There's a motor-bike, but I haven't had a chance to practice." Why was he telling them this? He took a deep breath. "You should let me go."

Tim sighed. "We really need to talk."

Jason laughed. "Yeah, this clown is going to get himself killed, and the great Timmy is going to save him? Dude. He's, yanno, the Bat."

The tiny, serious boy just stared at Blake, and gave a tiny little smile. "See, the thing is, I need some help with a situation, myself. A situation I can't handle."

The kid talked like somebody much older. Blake flexed against his bonds again, trying to find anything loose. "Which one of you tied me up?" he asked.

Jason chuckled. "I was never a boy scout, no, but it doesn't take a genius. Tim, we gotta go. We can leave a knife open across the room so he can get himself free when we're gone."

"He knows where we live," pointed out Tim, very reasonably. "If he wants to start playing games with us he could probably get us kicked out of the home, although that would be very stupid because we might be dumb enough to retaliate by revealing some of his secrets, which might just get him killed."

Blake didn't like the sound of that. "Are we making threats now?"

"I'm pointing out that escalating would be a mistake. Which also means... Jason, cut him free."

"Oh, come on!" said Jason, sounding frustrated.

"We're going to extend him a little trust. Because he's one of the good guys, right?" Tim leaned in closer to Blake. "Do you have any idea what that move I used to take you down was?"

Blake thought about it for a few seconds. "Some kind of judo?"

"Hmm, no. You need my help. Maybe more than you know. Okay, look, yes, I'm just a kid, but I know stuff—have you got any idea who you're up against right now?"

"Two snot-nosed kids," said Blake, rolling his eyes.

"No, not me. Cobblepot. I saw him take you down. Do you know how he did that?"

Blake frowned. "More or less the same way you did."

"No! No. See, you weren't paying attention then, you aren't paying attention now. Jason, cut him loose. Is that computer in the other room on? Come on, let's go."

Jason produced a little knife from his pocket. If the rules were still the same Blake was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to have a knife, not in the Home. It took him a minute to saw through the ropes holding Blake.

Tim was already in the other room, finding a YouTube video.

"We don't have time, Timmy," said Jason, sounding frustrated.

"This will be just a minute. Here, when you got taken down. See that? Around your chest? You know what that is?"

"A rope?" said Blake, rubbing his wrists. Forget any kind of truce with these kids, he was going to have to find some way to get them bounced from the Home. After he got them to show him the way down, and closed it off.

Tim rolled his eyes heavenward. "No, no, no! I mean, close, but did you see the guy here? In the shadows?" He pointed at the video, at the shadows behind Blake, moving back a few frames. "See, this isn't just a rope. This is a whip. And he knew the camera was on, so he made sure you were in the light and he was in the shadows."

"Who?" asked Blake.

Tim rolled his eyes. "He doesn't actually give out his name. But he has a reputation as the best assassin money can buy, and he is very, very dangerous. He was basically standing behind you, here, with a gun to your head, holding you in place, and you never even knew he was there. Cobblepot hired him to take you down, and then let you go. That guy there? If I tried the hold that I took you down with on that guy I wouldn't even get to make the hold. He is the best, and he is very dangerous."

Blake glared. "So I could ask around and people would know this?"

"Yeah, sure. Start at the top of the mob, Cobblepot's rivals, and get one talking. They'll know. They might even have an alias for getting in touch with him. And they will be walking very softly until he's out of town. But whatever you do, don't go near Cobblepot right now."

"And how do you know this?" he asked.

Tim shrunk in on himself, hunching over the keyboard. "I can't talk about that," he mumbled.

"Tim used to run with a circus," offered Jason, not quite helpfully. "Pretty wild bunch. It's where he learned all the tumbling and stuff."

Tim turned around to face Blake. "Do you have contacts with the superheros?"

"What, the one they call Superman? Sort of. I don't really trust him, though," said Blake, squirming. Chloe Sullivan had known his name, had known where he was staying, had known that he didn't have a job. She was the one who had arranged for him to become the beneficiary of a trust fund of some kind so he didn't really have to work nine to five, so he could concentrate on becoming something like the Batman.

That kind of knowledge scared him.

Tim nodded. "So we have a panic button if you go up against Cobblepot. Good. You might want to put that on speed-dial, just in case. So. Listen, are you going to be around tonight? There's a lot more stuff you need to know. Stuff about the Batman, too."

Jason rolled his eyes. "Tim, what the hell?" he asked, a little miffed.

Tim shrugged. "It's not stuff I'm really at liberty to talk about, yanno?"

Jason crossed his arms. "This is nuts."

Blake thought it was a little nuts. "You two better get back to the Home... I'll be here tonight. We'll talk."

He hadn't decided yet exactly when he would betray them. Maybe he would wait and see just how much the kid knew.

Tim looked up at him, squinting. "If you're gonna rat on us, can you wait until next week? I kind of have a situation right now with my girlfriend, and..."

Blake shook his head. "Yeah, sure, kid. Whatever. Can you just go, please?"

They left without saying anything more, leaving Blake alone, staring at the computer screen.

He played the video a few more times, watching the dark figure in the shadows.

There was somebody there. Somebody who managed to catch him easily, and who stayed back, letting some idiot in a windbreaker hold him down for Cobblepot.

What kind of teenager knew about dangerous assassins and could take him down in seconds? And what the hell was he supposed to do now?

2.

Gordon stood at the edge of the crime scene, watching.

Montoya was one of the best he had. Conscientious, strong, taking no guff. She knew the dark side of the street well enough to find anyone, and the good sense not to find the ones she couldn't handle.

He ran a hand through his hair. Losing Batman—Bruce Wayne—had been more stress than he had really thought it would be. His hair seemed to be turning snow-white overnight.

He waved Montoya over to him when she saw him. She came over slowly, taking the latex gloves off.

"Commissioner," she said, her voice a little tight.

They hadn't been able to take this job away from him, not even after the Bane disaster, but the Mayor had let him know in no uncertain terms that he would never hold any other job in this town.

That was all right by him. Other jobs were for other men, men who wanted them. Men who could do something else. There was nothing in him besides a passion to save this city.

That almost-fatal kinship with the Bat.

"Montoya. I just wanted to have a little follow-up chat." He glanced down at the scene, at the bodies. More violence this year than he had seen since the bad old days. More deaths. This wasn't good at all.

"Yessir."

"Is this...?"

"Same as the last? Yes, sir. But it's not a serial. He's not killing the same type—he's targeting known enemies of Cobblepot. Definitely a hitman. Some kind of specialist. This is about the Batman-wannabe?"

"Yes. Yes. You asked me... you asked me if I wanted you to find him."

"Yessir."

"Last night there was an incident."

"Oh?"

"Jewel thief. Burglary. Thwarted."

"Same guy?"

"Maybe, maybe not. No witnesses. The crooks never saw the one that got them. It's... it's more like him."

"Yeah."

Gordon swallowed. "You have pretty good instincts, Detective."

"Thank you, sir."

"I'm going to leave this up to you."

"Up to me, sir?"

"Yes. When you find out... if you find out... If you decide that... I don't expect a report from you unless you decide that it's necessary, do you understand."

She frowned. "Are you sure? He is just an amateur. Going to get himself killed."

Gordon steeled himself. "There's one name you are definitely not going to bring back to me."

"Sir?"

Gordon remembered those frantic months, working with a sharp young man who had worked very closely indeed with the Bat. Closer than Gordon. "John Blake."

"Ex-cop John Blake?" she asked sharply.

"Yes. If he's involved, if he has the Bat's equipment... then it's the same as if you found nothing, do you understand?"

She frowned. "Even if I think he's going to screw it up?"

"If it was him, he was hand-picked," said Gordon softly.

"And even posthumously, you trust _him_ that much?"

"I do."

She considered this. "Well, sir. Maybe officially you should post me to the cold case files. There's a bunch of stuff left over from the Bane incident... Maybe I should be looking into that fulltime for a while."

"And this stuff?" asked Gordon, nodding his head towards the dead body.

She shrugged. "I have no idea how you go about finding some kind of ninja. This isn't really my normal stuff, right? I've already contacted the FBI. Somebody this distinctive must have a file somewhere."

3.

First Blake hacked the orphanage's files. The boys who ended up there were, for the most part, the kind who didn't do well in foster care.

He found Jason Todd's file fairly easily. A troublemaker who was just narrowly avoiding juvie.

Tim Drake's file said he was new to the system. Family troubles, a father who had been assaulted and fallen into a coma. A lawyer.

Then Blake called Chloe Sullivan.

"Hi," he said, unsure how to start.

"John Blake, defender of Gotham. Saw you getting your ass kicked on TV the other night," she said, and he winced.

"Yeah. Sorry. Look, I have a problem."

"You have several. Did you ever get in touch with that trainer I referred you to? You need that training bad. And maybe you need backup, too."

"No, look, somebody figured out my secret."

She snorted. "Family? Friends?"

"What? No. I don't really have... anyway, these kids, from the orphanage upstairs, they broke in and..."

He didn't really want to admit that a fifteen-year-old had managed to put him to sleep and tie him up.

"Hang on, I'm logging in to your files remotely... okay, I see you've ID'ed them, I can... what the hell?"

"Watching the footage?"

"That kid laid you flat! I see you have been training, by the way. Good progress."

"Thanks." He didn't tell her about the disaster where he'd been kicked out of Helena's dojo. "And it was a pretty good night, before that. I was able to ninja two burglars, stop them without getting seen."

"Who is that kid? Let me see. Tim Drake? Tim Drake... dad's in a coma... let's just pull all the files I can find on the dad. Circus lawyer? That's odd. What kind of circus has a lawyer? There's something fishy here."

"Fishy?"

"This circus is clean. Meticulously clean. Circuses don't come this clean. Something weird."

"He, uh, he offered to give me advice. Told me I was in over my head, told me he could help."

"Oh, really?"

"Said Cobblepot hired some kind of big-time assassin, and said... said I needed to ask questions. So I'm asking you."

"Big-time assassin? Well, shit." She was quiet for a minute. "Oh, hell."

"What?"

"It's Cain. This is bad, very bad."

"How bad?"

"Ollie and I went up against this guy once. Barely got out alive. He is damned good. And, worse, he's part of this... this group."

"Group?"

"Folks who're trying to not get scooped up by Superman. Ever since he burst on the scene anybody too big gets taken down big, so a bunch of the bigshots pooled resources, went underground. Found a way to hide from him."

"Oh, really?"

"If you thought having the Bat around discouraged the bad guys, you should try having the big blue boyscout around. It's dangerous to even talk about killing somebody in this town. He can hear almost everything, you know. And he gets pissed off about organized crime."

"So?"

"So they got their hands on a piece of technology that masks their presence from him. Folks in the network can hide from him."

"Oh. Huh."

"Yeah. So, Cain. That's bad, very bad. He can kill you. Even if you got trained to Batman level overnight... he's kind of on that level."

"Um. So...?"

"So I'm coming for a visit, and I'm bringing Ollie."

"Really?"

"Ollie's actually, um, … he's in Europe right now, chasing down something... something that's a higher priority. So he'll be joining us a little later. No. Wait. I can't come down until I've cleaned up a little mess over here. So. Um."

"So you'll be over as soon as you can, but there's always a crisis bigger than this."

"No, not always. Just right now. Okay, sit tight, don't make a move. Just prepare. This guy could seriously cut you in half without trying."

"Okay."

Blake hung up carefully, staring at the phone. Last year there had been some kind of alien invasion, and Chloe Sullivan and the folks she hung out with had stopped it.

They weren't afraid of aliens, but they were afraid of this guy Cain?

"Oh, boy."

4.

Tim found Jason in his room, reading a book.

Tim raised an eyebrow, and put on his best Dickens' orphan voice. "I didn't know you could read, sir," he squeaked out.

Jason snorted. "You start in on me, and I will kick your butt right across this room." He put the book down. Hardcover. Very dull looking. Tim squinted, reading the title.

"The psychology of the Bat, by Doctor Jonathan Crane... what is this?"

"It's a book about Batman. By a bad dude who tried to kill him. I think he's got some of it right, although he obviously dropped the ball when he predicted that the Bat grew up on the wrong side of the tracks. Here to explain what you know about assassins and stuff."

Tim sat down on the end of the bed, glancing back out the door. "See, the thing is, the circus thing? It's not really real."

"Um, I've seen you on the parallel bars. I'm pretty sure that's real."

"That's cover," corrected Tim. "The circus was cover. It was really a bunch of thieves."

"Whaaaaat?" Jason snorted, putting a hand over his face. "Of course; that's why a goody-two-shoes like you got to be friends with me. It's not about my winning personality. I remind you of home!"

"Well, that and you're the only guy here who didn't try to steal my lunch money just because I'm a teeny-tiny little guy."

"Who could actually kick everybody's butt."

"Uh, maybe. Not if I was trying to hide my nature, you know."

"So your dad isn't really a lawyer?"

"Oh, no, he's actually just a lawyer. Wanted me to be a lawyer too. But he's a mob lawyer."

"Oh, man. And the whole innocent kid thing is just a schtick?"

Tim scowled. "Well, there it gets complicated."

"Complicated?"

"I sort of snitched my dad out, and half the circus."

"What?"

Tim shrugged. "People were getting hurt. They killed somebody I liked. It was all spiraling out of control. They were dealing with Cobblepot, and he is a nasty piece of work. I made a choice."

"A choice?"

"I stand by it," said Tim quietly. "But if my dad wakes up out of that coma I have to take off before he can get his hands on me."

"Ah, geeze. But the other day you were just saying if he woke up out of this mess he could fix everything?"

Tim shrugged. "Yeah, see, he would, because Stephanie's dad is part of the old gang."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah, that's how I met her. Through her no-good lousy dad."

Jason considered it. "Man, and here I was worrying I might be a bad influence on you."

Tim laughed. "Yeah, the best have tried. The best have tried."

"So the whole thing with Stephanie and her dad?"

"Yeah, it's part of the mess that I caused. That's why I feel responsible."

"And the baby's daddy?"

Tim grimaced. "He's been out of the picture for a while. I don't think he knew about the whole thing, so he was freaked out when everybody started going to prison and stuff."

Jason chuckled. "And so you want to help the guy downstairs?"

Tim sighed. "That guy has no idea what he's doing. He's totally going to get himself killed. I have no idea what kind of toys he has, but he has no idea what he's doing. He's a cop, right? What kind of cops actually understand crooks? Not him."

"So you're going to go from helping the cops bust the bad guys you know to helping a vigilante bust up organized crime?"

Tim shrugged. "We'll keep out of the actual action. We'll just kind of educate him where he's deficient—I mean, you said he was an orphan once, grew up on the wrong side of the tracks, decided to be a cop, right? So he's not all bad. He just needs the kind of specialized guidance you and I can give him. And, y'know, if somehow we're able to keep him alive until you turn eighteen, then when you leave, maybe he can put in a word for you, get you a job that doesn't involve looking over your shoulder for cops the rest of your life."

Jason snorted, rolling his eyes. "So now you're looking out for me, Timmy?"

"Always," said Tim, his voice soft.

5.

Cobblepot sat back in his chair, twiddling his thumbs over his chest.

Crane was slouching in his chair, looking off into the distance at something only he could see. He was thoroughly and utterly insane, and completely unreliable.

With him was the slim and questionably same Edward Nigma. The name was an affectation—there was no way he'd been born E. Nigma. It was his chosen name, meant to tell you something about him. It was a silly affectation.

The two of them were perhaps the most useful people Oswald had in his organization right now. That was a bit discouraging.

"So the two of you believe that between yourselves you can take down any kind of metahuman, do you?" he asked.

"I had dealings mostly with the Bat," murmured Crane.

"Myself, I dealt with the Bat, and with Superman... back before anybody knew what Superman was, of course."

"Hmm. And you say you can take him down."

Nigma nodded. "In the day, I had an old supersoldier program. I though it would be enough to stop the Batman, but it turns out that one creature, any one creature, can be defeated. You need a combination of weapons."

Oswald smiled. "I was able to stop him just fine with out specialist."

"Yes, but..." Nigma licked his lips. "A riddle. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned; do you know what her fury is like when she is accepted, and loses?"

Oswald rolled his eyes. "Really, Blake?"

Nigma nodded as if it had made perfect sense. "The Bat had allies. Superman. The... the sidekick. More. This one will have the same allies. If you want to defeat him then you have to trust me a little bit, let me assemble a team. Brains, brawn, … your specialist would be a vital part of the team, of course."

"He doesn't work well with others," said Oswald dryly.

"Yes, but his skills..." Nigma shrugged. "As you wish. If you give me some money and some latitude, then I will be ready to stand against anything. Anything. You will not be vulnerable, even if the whole lot of these 'heroes' stand together and try to fight you."

Oswald nodded, frowning slightly. Sometimes you had to use tools that were unreliable, like a hammer with the head loose so it might fly off. The key to using these tools was to make sure that if the head did fly off it hit somebody else, not you.

"Gentlemen, you will have whatever you need."


	3. Chapter 3

After the Bat – Chapter 3

Summary: John Blake was given a legacy, and a city, to protect.

1.

So Blake met with the two boys again, this time a little more prepared. "Look, I could get you both in a lot of trouble with the law," he said when they arrived, coming down the little elevator that he hadn't really understood was an elevator, but of course it was.

The taller of the two snorted. "Please."

The short one was shaking his head, but he had a smile on his face. "So, that suit you wear, let's have a look at it."

"This is not playtime, this is not a tour," said Blake. His head was already starting to pound.

Tim shrugged. "Okay, then we won't. Do you have a shielded untracable computer for doing research? Please tell me it's not just a normal connection."

"Satellite uplink. Plugs into a private network. Something called Watchtower." Again, too much. Damn these kids. Blake had no idea how to keep them from learning too much while also not antagonizing them.

Tim shrugged. "That's interesting. I take it you inherited that?"

Blake had to work out why he felt so insulted. "Because I couldn't have done anything smart on my own?"

Tim just gave him a small smile.

"Because that's... okay, y'know what, that's not—where did you learn to do that kung-fu stuff?"

Tim shrugged. "Circus. Anyway, look, there's a couple of things I think you know, or should know already, but I don't know. I was just a kid when Batman was around, doing his thing."

"You're just a kid now," said Blake.

Tim rolled his eyes. "O-_kay_. I get it. God! I get it. Okay. Pick a skill."

"What?"

"You already know I can take you in a fight. Although that might have been just one trick, maybe I'm a one-trick pony, maybe there's nothing else I can do, you should ask what else I can do. But pick something. Pick anything. Pick something you're good at. What are the skills you think the Batman should have?"

"Doesn't he just sound like he's a hundred years old?" asked the older kid, Jason. He sounded fond of the kid, kind of proud. There was also a bit of an edge.

Blake shrugged. "What? Stealth, ninja stuff, I guess."

Tim nodded. "Misdirection and theatrics. Okay. So, let me show you something." He put both hands behind his back. "Guess where Jason is."

Blake rolled his eyes, tilting his head slightly at the kid.

Who was gone.

He paused, thinking about it. "He just stepped back behind me. He's right behind me." His back itched. How did the kid move so quietly?

Tim shook his head. "That would be a no. Give up?"

Blake narrowed his eyes. "Sure, I give up."

Tim shrugged. "Why didn't you see where he moved?"

"I don't—you put your hands behind your back. Drew my attention."

"Right. That's the simplest trick I know, really. Draw attention here, do something here—but it works on a bigger scale too." Tim grinned. "But if you want ninja lessons I'd have to call in a specialist, and I kind of got the idea that you didn't like the idea of working with kids. So calling in one or two more would probably be a little much."

Blake rubbed his eyes. "Right. Where _is_ Jason?"

"He's behind me, of course." Tim moved aside, revealing Jason.

Blake frowned. "What? How'd you do that?"

"More sleight of hand. He wasn't behind me to begin with. Not until after you almost but didn't quite look behind you. You were working too hard on not looking behind you. Details. But that's not really important. Let's talk about crime lords, and why power vacuums can draw out worse things. Also, about how Cobblepot has your face. That's a psuedonym, right? Cobblepot? No way it's his real name. Real people don't have names like that."

2.

Renee had already figured out that John Blake was their 'Junior Bat.'

Not to a point that she'd be comfortable taking to court, mind you. But once Gordon had given her the name it had taken her about fifteen minutes to confirm that he had dropped right off the grid after the Bane incident. Another fifteen minutes to find out that he had been spotted in a few rough dives, fishing for information about the new mob boss muscling in on Gotham.

That was enough for her gut. An ex-cop who wanted to know way too much about what was going on? Who apparently didn't have an address, or a job? Who was still in Gotham, but couldn't be reached? Too many coincidences.

Gordon trusted the Bat too much, though, figuring that if he'd picked the rookie that this was kosher. Even if you accepted that the Bat's brand of vigilantism was necessary—Renee wasn't one hundred percent sold on that—there was no guarantee that this kid could handle the job.

So here she sat, in a bar in the middle of the day, waiting for her contact. Wondering how she could possibly evaluate the next Batman.

This was a hell of a burden to put directly on her shoulders. She had known the old man was tired, and she'd known he considered her the best he had. And that wasn't for nothing; she was a lot better than most of his detectives.

There were one or two grizzled old-timers she wouldn't want to bet weren't better than her. But their loyalty could be... strained. She was probably the best detective who Gordon could trust with something like this, anyway.

It still hardly seemed fair.

The prostitute came tottering in on high heels, sinking down into the booth opposite Renee. "Hey, sweetie," she said, dipping her head down. "How's business?"

Renee had busted Ruby a handful of times. "What's the word about this new Batman?" she asked, trying to keep her voice businesslike. Calm.

Trying not to sound like she had no idea what to do if she caught him.

Ruby shrugged. "The Bat used to walk the Street, you know? Not down here with us, but up on the roof. Word was that he never went after a sister, but that pimps were fair game. Like he knew the difference between a thug and a girl just getting by. Also wasn't so hot on boys coming around and beating up the girls just because they could. We felt safer when he was walking. This new guy, he ain't walking that beat, he hasn't even noticed us yet. It ain't the same guy."

"Yeah. Any word on what kind of guy he is?"

Ruby looked around, making sure nobody was close enough to hear, then leaned forward. "Way I hear it, cops ain't too healthy for the guy."

Renee shrugged. "What does your man say about it?"

Ruby always got out of jail, within hours. She was under the protection of some little hood, somebody who would bail her out. That meant she knew things most other people didn't know.

It also meant it was hard to get things out of her against her will. She knew the cops couldn't take her off the streets permanently, so Renee didn't have leverage.

That left bribery, and Ruby was way too expensive for her.

"The girls always liked the big strong Bat, liked feeling like he was in our corner. I'd have never said a word on him, even if I had known anything about him, which I didn't. This new guy, I'd probably tell you, but I don't know anything," said Ruby, offhandedly. Then she looked at Renee with those too-piercing eyes. "You know the short man took over this stretch of road this week? Did it all civilized, hasn't killed more than he had to. Last time we had a takeover like that they killed a bunch of the girls, just to prove they could. He didn't. Could have, but didn't. Says he won't start it if we don't start it. Nice, quiet, reliable. If I had to pick between a mystery man who probably doesn't give a damn about my ass, and a nice quiet and reliable boss who won't kill me if I don't ask for it? It's an easy choice."

She didn't sound entirely convincing. Renee raised an eyebrow. "But?"

"But if he really is like the Bat, then that's different. So maybe I'm waiting and seeing what he's like before I decide."

Renee nodded. She'd heard a similar spiel across town, downtown, and uptown. No surprises. Still, while she had Ruby here... "What do you know about the killer the short man hired?"

Ruby's face closed down. "Don't know nothing," she said, even though it was clear she did.

Renee nodded, accepting the answer. "Okay, that's fine." She peeled a few twenties from her pocket and dropped them on the table. This was expensive, especially on a lousy little detective's salary, but usually worth it. "Cut the heads right off some guys. Serious ninja stuff."

"He doesn't make his own kills," hissed Ruby. "Has a little girl with him, makes her finish them off. Training her. Freaks me out. You stay away from that, Renee. Stay _far_ away from that."

3.

Tim felt like the biggest man on earth, right about now.

Jason was a little more reasonable, dragging Tim back upstairs for dinner. After dinner, hanging out on the big porch, Jason tried to talk sense into him.

"A guy like that, a guy like him, he doesn't understand," said Jason.

Tim shrugged. "You have so much to worry about, don't you?"

"What? Yeah, I do. I worry you're trying to help this dude, and he's pig-ignorant. You seen the news?"

"I saw."

"Some guy cutting heads off mobsters. Sound like that hitman you were talking about? Tim. Tim. Think about this. If your little Bat-dude goes down, it could come back to us. That hitman could come back to us. Things turn ugly, then. Things turn very ugly. I don't want to see that. I mean, I'm safe, you get that? Safe as anything. I walk away, things turn bad, and who's gonna accuse a little punk with a record of rolling with the Bat? But you, you're different. You have skills, you have connections, and somebody is going to put that together."

"Did you see all the toys?" demanded Tim. "The bike, the cloth, that wicked cool suit..."

"I saw you look at them, yeah, I saw your eyes. Want, need. Tim! Wake up! This only ends one way, it ends with you dead. This guy can't cut it. This guy is nothing."

Tim rubbed a hand over his jaw. "I think you're missing my point."

"I really am."

"The big blue Superman, there's a connection."

"What, you want to mess around with gods now? Tim. I can't handle this. I am going to walk, and who'll have your back?"

Tim gave Jason a big mournful look, complete with sad puppy-dog eyes. "I can do this, Jason. Can you trust me?"

"A little. Not a lot!"

4.

Blake walked right into the restaurant. High-end, high-class, crimson drapes. Lots of people in suit jackets that were obviously hiding guns.

The head waiter in the fancy suit with the snooty accent took him right to Cobblepot.

The little man looked up at him balefully, from under a frown that looked like it had the weight of the world. "Well, well, well. Fancy meeting you here."

"Found my real name yet?" asked Blake, sitting down without waiting to be asked.

"I didn't go looking, because I thought we had an understanding. Do you want me to go looking?"

"It doesn't really matter to me. I stopped living a real life a while back. I don't have a home address. I don't have friends. I don't have family. The standard weaknesses. I thought we should chat about something."

Oswald took a deep breath. "Do you know what it is like to be a gangster with an obvious physical defect?"

"Oh, I imagine everyone and his brother is always taking a shot at you."

"People think your default state is weak. And if you show even a little bit of reasonableness or kindness, people think you are especially weak. And then you have to do something brutal to show them you have stones. I would dearly love to make an example of you."

Blake nodded. "I did some digging on you. Did you know they used to call you the Penguin?"

The short man rubbed a hand down the front of his black suit. "You don't say."

"Back when you were a stock analyst out of New York. But you threw that away to be a criminal, to play these games. Why is that?"

"The stock market is dumb. People don't follow rules, and at the end of the day, you can't punish them for being irrational. I find criminals to be much more rational actors, and when they do step out of line, you can have them killed. What is it you really want, little wanna-Bat?"

"I wanted to ask you about the guy you hired, the guy who grabbed me with that whip."

Cobblepot raised an eyebrow. "Oh, yes?"

"He's the guy taking people's heads, right?"

Cobblepot smiled.

"The thing is, the way we left things the other day? I thought maybe you were going around thinking I was intimidated. So I thought I'd put it to a challenge. He's the best, right?"

Cobblepot's smile deepened, just a hair.

"I won't go after anybody else but him. Tell him to watch his back. After all, if I can do that, if I show you that, that would be something, wouldn't it?"

"I imagine so," said Cobblepot dryly. "Dear boy, don't you think you're biting off more than you can chew?"

Blake nodded. "Probably. That's part of the message. Beating me once won't make me stop. And if I actually stop your number one enforcer... well, that's a message all its own, isn't it? So, I'll be seeing you around." Blake stood up.

"You really think I won't have you picked off here and now?" asked Cobblepot, surprised. "You think I want to go up against you in some kind of test, some kind of challenge?"

Blake grinned widely. "I don't know. Would you like to try it?" He opened the suit jacket a little, revealing the armor. "Turn this into a big thing in your own territory, in the middle of the day? I think you'd rather this was taken care of quietly, just me and your man."

Cobblepot shrugged. "You'd be better off getting shot right here. I'm not doing you any favors letting you take this on the hard way. Okay, go ahead, kid. Go ahead and show me something."

5.

Cobblepot paused the security camera. "At this point he goes to the window and scales his way up fifteen floors in a matter of minutes, which I shouldn't have to tell you is frankly ludicrous."

"Much more theatrical this time," mused Cain.

"David, I'm not entirely sure you're taking this seriously. He threatened you."

Cain smiled, leaning back in his chair. "Did he? Foolish boy. I expected better of the apprentice."

"Yes, so you said. Multiple times. Are you sure you're with me on this, David?"

Cain shook his head. "No, I am not. I told you before. We're under a limited contract. When the apprentice dies, then the matter is settled, and I go back to retirement. This is a final job... a favor to an old friend."

"Ah, yes, your mister Al Ghul." Oswald wound his hands into fists. "What is the connection here, anyway? Your Al Ghul died years ago, somewhere in the far east."

"The man he trained, his apprentice. I told you that."

"Yes, yes, you believe the Bat was trained in your ways... an assassin of your order." Oswald shook his head. Trying to get an assassin to explain why a man who refused to kill was such a threat and an insult was frustrating. "So this all comes back to revenge?"

"Revenge, and purifying the order. While the apprentice exists, then there is a chance that this bastard order will outlive the original. We cannot have that." Cain reached out, putting a hand on the head of the little girl who went everywhere with him. "Our order will be pure and perfect once again. Our order will topple cities, destroy civilizations."

Oswald felt a slight chill run up his back. The apocalyptic ravings always got to him, even though he knew they were just there for effect, just there to unnerve him. There was no way anybody actually believed anarchic howlings like that. "Yes, of course," he said.

"This city, this man, the disciple... he broke our order. He ended something that had been building up over millenia. To fix this will require... something bigger than I ever dared to dream while Ra's Al Ghul and I saw eye to eye. Something bigger than you can imagine."

6.

Eddie was pretty sure he was going to die soon.

He'd barely survived the Bat the first time through, and he'd had all kinds of resources then. People had trusted him to solve problems.

Now his mental illness was getting the better of him, and nobody trusted him. What was worse, he was having trouble seeing all the connections. He used to be able to tell riddles, he was pretty sure, and they had made sense. Everything had made sense.

Now he felt like he was turning into Crane, deranged, removed from reality. No longer even a part of this whole thing.

He remembered the little blond girl, Chloe Sullivan. She'd been smarter than him, smarter than anything he was prepared to handle.

So Eddie picked up his phone, and made the call.

"What?" growled the deep, throaty voice at the other end. He could feel everything inside of himself tensing up, trying to escape. He looked around the mob-owned hotel room, trying to gather his courage.

"Is Chloe there?"

"Who is this?"

"An old... an old enemy, I think. But we made our peace, more or less, and there are worse things, and I want to talk to Chloe."

Because she had made a lot of sense. She'd helped destroy the mob that propped him up, which he should have hated her for, but she had cut through the fog he was always walking through. She had clearly shown him the sides.

Maybe she could deal with all this.

Her voice, still sounding so young and idealistic. "Edward Nigma, Gotham city's man of riddles. What do you want?"

She was able to recall him so fast, able to cut through him. He thrilled at the power in that soft voice. "They're building an army, here, you know, one to cut down your special friend. And they have power, and they're gaining more every day." And he had helped them put together some of the pieces, to his own shame. "I want out. I want help."

The line went dead. Eddie spun, facing the door.

David Cain stood there, his trenchcoat wrapped tight around his body. His eyes glittered in the darkness, cold lumps of coal. Utterly without empathy. "This is what loyalty means you, Edward?"

Eddie shrugged. "I see it all so clearly. I see the next step. It won't work—it'll turn this all to ashes. It'll destroy us. It's not right."

Cain nodded, and something moved in the shadows behind Eddie.

He barely felt the blade that ran him through, feeling it as a push to one side. He looked down at it, surprised.

"Isn't she good?" asked Cain, whispering it. "The last hope of resurrecting the League of Shadows. The last hope of ending all the corruption in the world. Do you see how much rests on her? Everything Bruce Wayne left behind him must be destroyed, one step at a time. Everything must end."

Eddie sank to his knees, falling off the blade. Now he felt coldness, and a sharp pain in his stomach. But he couldn't quite draw a breath, couldn't ask a question. He looked up at the girl standing beside him, holding the blade.

There was something in those dark eyes. A hint of sympathy? Or was she enjoying watching him die? He couldn't tell anymore. It was all the same.

He coughed wetly, or tried to. Nothing seemed to be working, and the room was so very dark. He wanted to ask David Cain if he understood the price they would pay if they successfully killed the heroes, if he understood what came after that.

But Eddie had no more time left.

7.

Tim watched Blake stalking through the shadows, and tried to suppress a yawn.

This was three nights in a row sneaking out, staying up, trying to use the hours of darkness to get stuff done. And all day long he had school and activities and watchful guidance counselors just watching for any sign of listlessness.

They were looking for signs of drug use, but how would they tell the difference between that and vigilantism?

Jason leaned closer to Tim, nudging him. "He's doing that all wrong again."

Tim nodded wearily. "It'll take more than a crash course to teach him to sneak like a ninja. You know, ninjas weren't a real thing, right?"

"Whatever. That's book stuff." Jason was way more interested in the practical mechanics of a thing than the theory and invented history of it.

Tim scowled at him. "What's bugging you?"

Jason shrugged. "At some point somebody is going to put a bullet in this guy, and you and me, we're just collateral damage. Tim, what the hell are we doing here?"

Tim made an angry huffing noise. "If you don't want to help out, just say so."

Jason couldn't put his bone-deep certainties into words. "I'm with you, you know that. I just... I just want you to be more careful."

Tim scrunched his shoulders together, as though the act could stop a bullet. Jason knew the cost to this already. He'd been on the streets. Maybe Tim had been part of some kind of circus of crime, maybe he knew things about fighting that made him some kind of little warrior prince of crime, but Jason knew the price that you paid for something like this.

You always paid with the lifeblood of those dearest to you.

But that was just morbid, and Jason was trying to be a little less morbid these days.

Tim's eyes never left Blake. "Why d'you think he does this?" he asked.

Jason squinted, thinking of the book he'd been reading. "Unresolved trauma? Deep-seated rage issues?"

"I think he's kind of noble, and stuff," said Tim.

Blake stepped out, into the path of the would-be muggers. He deployed a savage right hook, dropping one, then tried to wade forward, to take the rest all at once.

Tim winced, ducking his head and looking away. "Also, he's dumb as rocks. How the hell are we supposed to teach this guy?"

Jason didn't look away, watching Blake get hammered back by a series of blows to the body. "They should hit him in the head—that mask doesn't give him near enough protection there. He's vulnerable, and these yahoos gotta shoot for the belly? Can't they see it's armor? Dumb! Maybe that's how he's lived this long. They're all dumb."

Tim drew a deep breath, opening his eyes. "Okay, the real question is, can he be taught?"

Below them, on the street, Blake twisted, catching the incoming blows on the hardened chest piece, and lashed out, punching one mugger in the face. As the mugger staggered back he tried to kick the other one, but his aim was off, and he overbalanced, falling to the ground.

"Shit," muttered Jason. "He's gonna totally get killed by a couple of drunk muggers in the street."

Blake managed to scramble back to his feet. One of the muggers had produced a knife, and he lashed out, knocking it to the ground.

Then he began advancing, quick forward steps straight at them.

"He's got the guts," said Tim. But he was looking away, looking down.

"Just gonna get himself killed, that's what he's got," replied Jason.

But Blake was taking the upper hand now. Maybe he had intimidated them, or maybe he had hurt them. But now they broke and ran.

Tim let out a long breath. "Those guys were nothing. Zeros. If he can't even stop the zeros, how the hell is he supposed to actually take on the mob, take on this assassin? I'm not sure I can train him enough to get him ready for this."

"This is what I've been telling you!" snarled Jason.

Tim peered down at the dimly lit street. "So he saved the little old lady. Is she cussing him out?"

"I think so."

"Why?"

"Dunno. Probably for doing such a bad job of saving her."

Blake turned and sprinted away down the street, firing his grappling hook and using the quick-ascent system to climb up, straight up. Faster than an ascending elevator. When he reached the top he scrambled onto the rooftop, continuing to run, and fired again, this time cutting across the rooftops.

When he reached Jason and Tim he was breathing a little bit heavier than normal, but he still had his breath. "Well?" he asked, his voice tight. It was a hell of a question to have to ask two teenagers.

Tim shrugged. "What'd the old lady say?"

Blake worked his jaw a few times before answering. "Said I ought to be ashamed of myself for stealing _his_ look."

Tim laughed. "And you don't even wear the cowl."


	4. Chapter 4

After the Bat – Chapter 4

Summary: John Blake was given a legacy, and a city, to protect.

1.

Blake wasn't sure what to tell Lucius Fox about the boys.

Here he was, meeting with the CEO of one of the biggest companies in the world, and trying to explain why the motorcycle wasn't enough anymore.

Fox leaned back in his very comfortable black leather chair. Those dark eyes always seemed to know something that Blake didn't. It drove him crazy. "You know, now that my major shareholders aren't in on the secrets I keep it's very difficult for me to sink money into... shall we call it an urban renewal project? Yes, the urban renewal project."

Blake chewed on his lower lip, considering his answer. "I thought you had shares?"

"I have a small fortune in shares, some several million dollars worth. That makes me a decidedly minor shareholder, Mister Blake, and gives me the very tiniest of votes on the board. My status as the CEO who guided us through dark and troubled times gives me what pull I have, and my reputation for keeping us profitable despite the very broad legacy instructions we carry about designing weapons for the government... well. I am on thin ice constantly. And were I to lose my position as CEO, then I would be of even less use to you. So, no, I can't help you much more, Mister Blake. If it's a car you need, then I suggest buying several used vehicles and muscling them up. There's a discreet garage downtown." He paused. "The other projects I'm working on, with Queen... that's taking all of my resources, keeping it hidden."

Blake squirmed. "The thing is...?"

"Yes, Mister Blake?" Fox's face was innocence writ large. He had to already know.

Blake tried to swallow his pride, but it all got lodged in his throat, burning there. "I'll show myself out."

"Yes. Please do. But by all means, do use the express elevator. You'll find a few toys in the special parking garage... after reviewing your performance last night on the footage that made its way to the internet, I'm certain you'll find these... helpful."

Blake stood up, nodding. "Again, sorry to bother you."

"Mister Blake, I consider this project to be a favor to an old friend, not to you. I'll do whatever I can, you know that. It's just... beyond my power."

2.

The toys Fox had left in the underground bay beneath the tower were more grappling hook toys. The launcher and reel were already immensely useful to Blake, but these appeared to be an attempt to make them into non-lethal weapons for grappling.

More people trying to tell him that he was utterly inadequate in a fight.

Why was it even kids like Tim could make effective ninjas, and he couldn't? There was something messed up about this.

He headed down the tunnel for the old parking garage a block down. It was a good place for inconspicuous comings and goings. The entire setup was designed to protect Lucius at all costs.

There was a nagging thought at the back of Blake's head reminding him that nobody was going to be protecting him like that. And the circle of people that he needed to try to keep safe now included two punks who he couldn't shake.

The streets were busy, as always. He tugged the baseball cap down over his eyes and walked through the city, alone and isolated among the very people he was trying to protect.

This was all going to hell too fast.

3.

Tim didn't wait until evening, until their next rendezvous with Blake. He snuck down during lunch, into the cave.

He crept through the shadows, searching out the thing that had caught his eye last time they were here, when Blake was pushing them through as if they were just dumb kids out past curfew who needed to be put back to bed.

They were just dumb kids out past curfew, but so was Blake.

The suit stood there, inside a circle of glass, dark and forbidding. Everything Tim had hoped it would be.

Up close it was everything that quick glimpses of it had led him to expect. Dark. Inhuman. The empty mask seemed to stare at him, empty eyes following him.

The cape...

He opened the glass, sliding it to one side to get access. The dark cloth was just cloth, inert. He'd seen the Bat take wing, flying. How?

Tim examined the gauntlets. There was something there—a battery pack of some sort on the wrist. He carefully took the gauntlet off and put it on.

This felt terribly wrong. Somebody else's skin.

He gripped the cloth, and fumbled with it for a minute.

When he found the switch, the glass shattered, and he was pushed back, away from the cloth, knocked flat on his back.

He stared up at the cape, which had somehow become a wing. Wider than before, longer. The material had somehow expanded as well as taking shape.

He put his hand over the gauntlet still on his hand, and toggled the switch again. He jerked his hand away in surprise—a tiny shock. Electricity?

Cloth like this had a memory. That meant...

He searched through the cave till he found the device that manufactured the material, and played with the computer for a while. Stretching out different designs, trying to figure out the limits of this cloth. This was the most basic possible use, something anybody could think of. He tried to think of something more useful.

But in the end he could only think of a few. He set the machine to printing and went back upstairs, hoping he hadn't been gone so long he had been missed, hoping Jason had covered for him.

4.

David Cain had been watching this detective for a while.

It was the questions that bothered him, really. It wasn't that she asked any more than everybody else, or that her questions were any smarter. It was a pattern of questions. First she had been tracking him, trying to find him. Trying to find any trace of the ninja who was killing gangsters in her city.

That was a risky business, asking so many questions about violence. Her fellow cops weren't nearly as concerned. Happy to see violent criminals permanently off the streets.

As they should be.

But this one, she asked anyway.

And now she had stopped asking, and was asking about this boy, this former Detective, Blake.

A single cursory search on that name proved to Cain that she had found the disciple of the Bat.

He was excited for a minute, calling his daughter to him. They went out and found every single known association Blake had in this city, every person he had known. Every place he could have gone to ground.

He hadn't been lying to Oswald. He had no friends, no family. He had disappeared off the face of the earth.

David followed Detective Montoya to lunch. She walked with all the innocent lack of concern of somebody who hadn't delivered his greatest foe right to him.

She sat at a bar, and he waited till she'd half-finished her sandwich. There was no point being uncivilized about it.

"Detective Montoya," he said, inclining his head towards her.

She frowned at him. "Do I know you?" Her left hand dropped casually under the counter, and he pretended he hadn't seen it. Cassandra was behind her, anyway, and could kill her before she had a chance to ever draw the gun she was putting her hand on.

"I don't think so, but you've been asking some questions. I thought perhaps we ought to have a chat."

"Ah." She took a bite carefully, chewing slowly. Using that time to sweep a glance around the rest of the diner behind her.

That didn't matter. Cassandra was never seen when she didn't want to be seen.

"Yes, I thought it was time we met face to face. You've seen my handiwork around town. Tell me, have you found young John Blake yet?"

She didn't twitch. She rolled her shoulders, turning to face him. "You haven't killed any cops the whole time you've been on your little rampage. Looking to start now?"

He shrugged. "There's no need to be antagonistic. I assume you know what you're looking for? You know he's an assassin now, a killer. I'm offering to solve a problem you face."

He peered deep into her eyes. If you paid close attention you could see what decisions a person was making, sometimes even before they'd realized what they had decided. That split second before their body took action.

If she went for her gun, he'd know. He was certain of it. He'd spent a lot of time honing this skill. Teaching it to Cassandra.

He waited.

"Wow," said Montoya, scowling. "You think I can't see the way this is?"

"Oh?"

"He hasn't killed. He doesn't kill. You do." She was wrong—David never did his own killing any more. But she was close to right.

She let the words sit there, between them, taking another bite. David looked around the room at all the witnesses watching them. It would be hard to make this look like an accident, but he was willing to try if she started anything. "So, Miss Montoya… this would all be easier if you just took the easy way."

She shrugged. "Let me tell you something, buddy. I don't even like Blake. He's just playing at white-boy savior-of-the-city, a feel-good position that doesn't always have anything to do with what's really good for the city. Sometimes it feels right and good to go around the law, to do it the easy way, but there's a reason we have laws, a reason we have civilization." She picked up the paper cup, sipping at her soda. "People like you think you have a code, you think you have a clean way of life, but what you have is an empty soul."

He wrinkled his nose. "Attempting psychology on me? For shame, Miss Montoya."

She shook her head. "Don't you call me 'miss,' not ever. I'm a Detective. That's my title. You can call me Montoya, you can call me Detective Montoya, you can call me Detective, you can call me a bitch, but don't you act like I'm some little girl who didn't earn what I have." She raised her left hand out of her lap slowly, bringing up a skinny wallet. She slipped out the money for her meal, dropping it on the bar, and stood up slowly. "And I guess if I took you in you wouldn't conveniently repeat everything you told me here?"

He shrugged. "I have a good cover story. Bulletproof. Would you like to test it?"

"Not today." She put her wallet back. "I'll be seeing you around, mister."

He smiled. "I look forward to it."

"Doubt it."

5.

Tim punched Blake in the face, jumping up and throwing all his weight into it. Blake tumbled back into the wall, falling down.

"Aw, c'mon!" said Tim, dancing back, arms up and ready. "I telegraphed that one and everything! Try to keep up!"

Blake struggled to his feet, staggering a little bit. "Hang on, hang on, I'll get this."

Jason was tucked into the corner, reading the user's manual that had come with the motorcycle. He looked up at them, watching Blake stagger and weave. "Careful you don't do any brain damage," he said, his voice dry. "That could severely slow us down."

"It's nearly five in the morning," said Blake. "I could do with a break."

"You have the day to sleep away," pointed out Tim. "We don't. So come on, let's not waste time. I need to teach you this stuff, and fast."

Jason snorted, looking back down. There were apparently guns on the bike. Meant to be non-lethal, some kind of rubber bullets. Meant for breaking through glass, chewing up vehicles, clearing the road.

Still lethal at close range. He made a note of that, underlining the whole section. He wanted a chance to drive the motorcycle, but that would be coming up later.

Blake sat down. "No more. I'm still tired from fighting crime all night."

Tim did a little dance of frustration, up on his tiptoes. "You were nearly killed by common muggers yesterday; tonight you had those burglars, and they should have been way easier, but they _weren't_, and you're not getting this stuff!"

"Too much, too fast," muttered Jason under his breath.

It probably wasn't fair. Blake could probably have killed Jason in anything like a fair fight.

Jason wasn't big on fair fights, anyway.

Blake looked exhausted. Jason felt the same way. His eyes felt gooey and heavy. This whole thing was pushing them all way too hard, and that was going to lead to mistakes sooner or later.

So Jason put the book down in the corner, marking his page. "Come on, Tim, we're going," he said, shuffling over and grabbing Tim by the shoulder.

"Don't _wanna_," whined Tim.

"See ya tonight," said Jason to Blake, as sarcastically as he could. In case Blake was under the impression that things were going fine.

They headed up for the elevator.

"You're too mean to him; he's trying."

"Trying to get us killed," muttered Jason.

6.

Blake was trying to eat breakfast.

It was getting harder to show his face around town. Oswald had people everywhere, and they all knew his face. Because he had been sloppy and slow.

And somewhere out there was a world-class assassin gunning for him personally.

During the whole crisis with Bane he'd felt helpless. Now he was feeling that way again. He could be smart, he could be fast, but no matter how smart he was, no matter how fast he was, there was no way to win this battle.

The bell over the door dinged, and he checked. He had his back to the wall, hiding in the corner where they couldn't see him from the window, couldn't see him from the door.

It wasn't Cobblepot's goons. He looked down at the table, trying not to attract her attention. Trying to remember what Jason had told him about not being seen, about being part of the background of a place.

She sat down opposite him anyway. He let out the breath he was holding, eyes darting up very fast. Something twisted inside him.

She was wearing makeup, which she hadn't before, when she'd been trying to show him how to fight. With the makeup she looked very different, like she was from another world. Glamorous. Poised. Like she was ready to stare down the Queen of England.

But it was mostly the gun in her hand, pointed right at him, that had his attention.

"Hello, Blake," she said.

And he was here, alone, in the back of a diner, where nobody could see the two of them from the window or the door. Alone and trapped.

The safety was off the gun.

Shit. Well, maybe he didn't have to worry about Cobblepot and his assassin, anyway.


	5. Chapter 5

After the Bat – Chapter 5

Summary: John Blake was given a legacy, and a city, to protect.

1.

Blake stared down the barrel of the gun. It was a .32, and although she was holding it in a very relaxed way, it was also a nicely practiced grip. She clearly had some experience shooting it. Her finger wasn't quite on the trigger, still just beside it, but poised. Very clearly poised.

He took a deep breath. "Helena, what is this?"

She tilted her head at him. "Sit back," she said, and then put one foot up, pressing it into his crotch, pinning him in his seat. Now he was stuck, trapped in place.

She lowered the gun under the table, out of sight, and picked up a menu in her left hand. To anybody walking into the diner they would have looked like lovers sitting down to breakfast.

He squirmed a little, but not too much. "What do you want?"

She shook her head slightly. "Wait."

The waitress came over. "Can I get you anything?" she asked.

"Coffee, black," replied Helena.

The waitress returned with a mug a moment later. Once she was heading away, Helena spoke. "Like I said, you're a hard man to track down. But not a hard man to recognize, not for me. I've been watching videos on YouTube. Watching this so-called little bat."

"What?"

"They have names for him. Wannabat. Little Bat. Junior Bat. Bat-boy. Nightwing." She picked up the coffee in her left hand, sipping it while keeping her eyes glued to him. "A guy who's apparently picking right up where the big bad Batman left off."

"Right. So?"

"I trained you for a little while. Not enough to teach you what you need to know, but enough to be able to see how you fight, what you do. Don't try to lie to me, because that will just piss me off, Blake. I can see the bruises on your face, and I can see what you were doing last night, and I saw the video, and I can see you. Loud and clear."

He squirmed again. "Helena…"

"Now, don't try to explain, not just yet. When I kicked you out, you didn't try to say you weren't working for him."

"I don't even know who 'him' is supposed to be."

"Yeah, I'm getting that. The thing is, if you're lying to me—if you are working for him—then this is a disaster. This is a scam where a criminal and a bad man pretends to be something really good and the second coming of the Bat in order to get something. So I'm going to ask you to convince me that you're not that—that you really are just what you appear to be, a dumb kid trying to be the Batman when you're not even slightly prepared for it. Who gave you my name? I'm deadly serious, I need to know."

"Chloe Sullivan," he said, his mouth dry.

"Ah." She didn't relax, or move the foot pinning him in place. "That's a start. She's good people. How do you know her?"

"I… you're not going to believe this next part."

"Mm-hm."

"I just… I don't know her, not really. She came to me, offered me resources. Gave me your name. Told me I wasn't ready to… do what I'm doing. Not yet."

"And how did she find you?"

"I don't know. She's… you know who she showed up with?"

She rolled her eyes. "The big S?"

"Yeah, him." He thought very carefully about the implications. "You roll with those guys, then?"

"No. Chloe Sullivan tracked me down to my house—to my house! And treated me like a child and told me what I am allowed to do in my own home. I don't like her." She eased the foot back, unpinning him, and tucked the gun into her waistband, pulling the baggy shirt down over it. "I don't know. She might have been right. Things got complicated. Long story. So, you're trying to be the bat? What the hell makes you think you can?"

He swallowed, shifting his position to lean forward. "Look, I don't know how much you know about him…"

"Assume I don't. I just moved here a few years back—after the Bane incident. After he was gone."

"The thing is, I kind of knew him. At least for a little while. I kind of fought beside him—I mean, not that I did a lot of the actual fighting. You know that. But I worked with him. And when he… he left me something."

"The suit?"

"The suit, and more. The means… it's not the same suit. You can see that, right?"

"It looks like the same suit, modified."

"It's not. It's a brand-new model, tailored for me. I have… I have connections. And toys. Gadgets. Stuff… Look, you're not going to…?"

"Out you? God, no." She sipped at the coffee some more, looking away from him, out at the street. "So what do you think you're doing out there? You're going to get yourself killed, you know that, right?"

He squared his shoulders. "You weren't here. When things… these things get big in a hurry, okay? These things are… the cops can't handle them. This was a place without hope when I was a kid. I'm not letting it turn into that again. Some of these guys… they scare me."

She sipped her coffee, peering at him. "You know, you should have told me before."

"I can't really just tell anybody…"

"No, I mean, you really should have. The stuff I was teaching you? Give me a break. You can't do that stuff in your suit. You need to be training in that suit. It looks light, but it's still going to restrict you. Plus, if you're actually going to be fighting real-world gun-toting bad dudes, then you're going to need weapons."

"No guns," he said automatically.

Her mouth curved in a smile. "You are crazy. Okay, no guns, but you're going to need something. You're too small to hit hard enough to put a guy down fast enough—you're just plain not up to it. I could put twenty pounds of muscle on you and you'd still be too small to do the kind of damage you need to do."

He looked at her shoulders and biceps, which were at least as thick as his own—probably moreso. "Yeah, okay," he said, trying not to sound like he felt patronized. Even though he did.

"And what's more, we gotta work on how you use the armor to your advantage. Lots of stuff. Different stuff. And for god's sake, we gotta teach you how to use makeup."

"What, makeup?" Now he was surprised.

"Concealer. You look like you've been in the ring, and people don't just go around all the time looking like they got beat up. You either have to have a good excuse—like a career as a fighter, you know, that'll do it—or cover it up well enough most people don't notice. I've done a fair amount of both."

He took a deep breath. "Do you mind if I ask…?"

"I didn't throw those fights. I was framed."

"Um…"

"They faked the e-mails. After the fact. Anything I lost fair and square, they manufactured 'proof' that I had said I was gonna lose them. There was no money, there was damn little proof, but I got thrown out. I had enemies, and I didn't know I had enemies. That's dangerous."

He smiled. "So. Should I come down to your dojo?"

She snorted. "Blake, you just try. You just try. If I can spot you, any two-bit hustler can figure you out. I'm not having you anywhere near it. You got a place where we can work? A secret hideout?"

He frowned. "I'm not totally comfortable with giving you _everything_."

"All or nothing, Blake. I don't have time to play your minion here. Either you let me help you on my terms, or nothing. I'm not going to put myself at risk to get you up to speed. We're going to do this in a way that I won't end up relying on you not getting your mask pulled off to keep me safe. We're doing this my way. Got it?"

It was a hard pill to swallow, but there was more at stake here than just his pride. "We do have a space. Outside town. Hard to get to. It's sort of a … a thing."

"Got it. I'll meet you here this afternoon with my stuff, and we'll go out there, and from now on I'll go directly there. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Hey, not that you were worrying too much about paying me anyway, but you can forget it."

He grimaced. "No, there's a fund… Chloe Sullivan. For just this kind of stuff."

"Yeah. I know. No. Think of it as my contribution to what you're doing. I'll see you later, Blake."

He watched her stalk out, leaning down over the table. This felt like a terrible risk, letting somebody else in on the secrets. But he just wasn't equipped to do this on his own. He wasn't the Bat.

2.

Blake didn't really have a car. Not one that was reliably running all the time. He used the souped-up motorcycle that Batman had left him to get back and forth when he had to get from town to the cave or vice versa. (and lately he'd been making that drive with two teenaged boys hanging on to him)

So they drove from Gotham City out into the country in her car.

Getting her to the waterfall wasn't too bad. When he produced the tiny grappling hook launcher she gave him a look. He fired it up, into the rock face, and it latched firmly, using that special magic that Lucius Fox had somehow invented.

He offered her a hand.

"Oh, no way," she said, sounding disgusted.

"No, look, I'm wearing a jump harness." He opened the windbreaker to show her that he was wearing the armor. "It hooks into the winch, and makes this pretty safe.

She sighed, stepping closer and letting him put an arm around her. She put an arm around his neck. "We're definitely going to have to go straight from this to a fight," she muttered.

He shrugged. "Well. I'm pretty sure there'll be a fight."

He jumped, swinging them through the waterfall, through to the other side.

All the lights were on already, and his stomach dropped as he released the winch, dropping them to the platform. He let go of her a second before landing, so that she landed beside him instead of being all tangled up with him as they landed.

Helena very slowly straightened up, taking in the vast scale of the cave, the equipment all around them.

Then she froze, turning to face Tim, standing there watching her with an eyebrow up.

"That's a kid," said Helena, glaring at Tim.

Blake put a hand over his face. "Oh, god."

"Hey, that's… I know her," said Jason, who had somehow snuck up on them from the other direction, the way he always did.

"That's another kid," said Helena, glaring at Jason now.

"Look, they just came in the cave and found me, and I can't get rid of them," said Blake. "I don't want you thinking I'm inviting kids to help me out with this, because that's not how this is."

Tim moved closer, glaring. "Is this your girlfriend, Blake?"

Helena arched an eyebrow, conveying unmeasurable scorn. "Girlfriend?"

Tim nodded. "Then who the hell are you?"

"Who the hell are you?" she responded.

"Helena's been training me to fight," said Blake, trying to keep the peace.

"Oh, dude!" said Tim, immediately brightening up. "Wicked!"

"I have a poster of her over my bed," said Jason, sounding impressed. Maybe the first time Blake had ever heard him sound that way.

"Can we fight? Please?" asked Tim.

Now both eyebrows went up, and she just stared at him, shocked, for a few seconds. "Really, kid?"

"He put me down on my back in ten seconds," muttered Blake.

"In one," corrected Jason. "Dude, I don't think that's a great idea. She's hardcore."

"Just a sparring match. Please?" Tim looked ridiculously happy.

Helena took her jacket off. "There anywhere in this cave we have some space for a fight?"

Jason pumped his fist. "Dammit, Tim!"

"What?"

"Now I'm super-stoked to see her kick your butt, but how the hell am I going to explain all the bruises on your face to Nurse Ratchet?"

Helena smiled crookedly. "I'll go easy on his face."

Tim grinned. "Yeah, willya? Good."

For a moment they just stood there, considering each other. Jason took an expectant step back, which Blake thought was silly. "Guys, can we do this some other time? I brought Helena here to show her what we're working on, where we work. This is important."

"This is important too," said Tim. His voice was firm, steady as a rock. "Because I'm not your kid sidekick, and she's not your girlfriend, and this is really the only way to establish that once and for all. Just step back, and let's get something straight right here."

He moved closer to Helena, turning his body sideways and raising one arm loosely in front of him, waiting.

She lashed out with that incredibly quick swing, and he rolled, spinning right under it. She moved quick, a flurry of blows, testing his defenses. Searching for an opening.

Blake wasn't even sure who he was supposed to be rooting for here. The annoying kid who kept breaking into his top-secret hidden lair and insisting that Blake was utterly unequipped to fight crime? Or the woman who had been punching him in the face without giving him a minute to breathe the other day?

Some little part of him didn't care who won, and just wanted to see both of them get beat up.

Tim ducked once more, stepping back, and then something shifted. Like quicksand. Now everything was different, and Blake wasn't even sure why. But their stances were both different, something in their eyes was different. They were holding themselves differently.

And then Tim attacked.

His attacks weren't like Helena's. No short, controlled strikes. Wild, spinning pirouettes. Kicks. His whole body dancing. It was in a strange way beautiful, something Blake hadn't seen when Tim was grappling with him. It was almost a ballet of violence.

Helena countered quickly, efficiently, almost brutally, but when he stopped she backed up, away from him, arms up. He waited, knees bent, standing in the middle of the cave.

There was a tiny smile on his face.

"Shit," said Helena, and she sounded impressed. "Where'd you come from?"

"Oh, around," he said.

"It's pretty, but not very practical," she said, relaxing. "Didn't you ever study any Muay Thai? Kickboxing?"

"Nah, it's pretty much all showy stuff. Circus stuff," he said, and his body language changed without him seeming to move at all. Now he looked like a teenager again. His limbs hung loosely from him, almost in a slouch. Muscles that had been whipcord tight were slack. "Acrobatics and Palm-style kung fu. Why?"

Blake looked from Helena to Tim, and back again. "What, that's it? One scuffle?"

Jason laughed, nudging him. "Dude. You ain't ever seen nothing like that before, so don't pretend."

Blake wasn't sure. He'd seen things somewhat like that. He'd seen the Batman come out of nowhere and unleash blows like that on four or five thugs, armed with guns, and take them all down like nothing.

Helena shrugged. "Okay, the kid can fight, I give you that."

Jason shook his head. "No, nononono. No. Back up. Timmy, you gonna tell them the thing with the guy and the thing?"

Tim shrugged. "So, who here knows who the most dangerous assassin on earth is?"

Helena's eyes narrowed. "Guys missing their heads, deadly ninja attacks at night?"

Blake felt his head begin to pound. "Um… my contact gave me the name Cain."

Helena gave him a look that was hard to interpret. Equal parts horror and surprise. "Cain?"

"Cain," said Tim, nodding. "Hey, that's interesting. So, uh, how open can we be in front of Helena?"

"How open can I be in front of a couple of kids?" replied Helena.

Jason grinned. "You came to Gotham to kill the guy, right?"

Everybody froze. Blake could almost hear his own heartbeat in the sudden frosty silence. Helena turned very slowly to face the older teenager, her eyes narrowed and her hands held rigidly at her sides. "What'd you say, kid?" she asked, and there was just a touch of emphasis on 'kid.'

He shrugged. "What was it, three years ago? They framed you, they stole your life, there's no way you just walked away from that and didn't think about revenge. And now you show up in Gotham. Gotham City. Mob central. No way that's a coincidence. Not a chance. Tim?"

"I don't know. Was it the mob that did all that?" said Tim, his tone of voice dubious.

But Blake had the other pieces already. He crossed his arms. "That's why she found you, why she came into your house and 'told you what to do.'"

Helena gave him a look, then gave Jason a look. She didn't bother glaring at Tim. "This is my business, and I don't think it's any of yours."

Jason shrugged. "Ma'am, I don't know you, but if you're looking for revenge, if you're looking to kill the dude who did all that, then I'd be happy to help."

Tim rolled his eyes heavenward, letting out an angry grunt. "Jason!"

"Hey, now, no killing!" said Blake, disturbed.

Jason sneered at the two of them. "You two don't even know, gimme a break. They killed her family, dude."

"Oh!" said Tim, and he took half a step back.

Blake thought about it. He wanted to yell at her now, wanted to scream. Maybe grab her shoulder and shake her. (except for how she could break him in half, probably)

He settled for just saying the obvious. "You're not the only one," he said, keeping his voice as cool and calm as he could. "Revenge is what they do, out there. I'm not going to… I've already killed once. I'm not going that way again. We're not doing that. If any of you are thinking that's how it's going to be here, then I can't work with you. If that's what you're here for, if that's what you thought this was, then you have to leave."

He felt sad and sick and angry now, and it just hung in the air. He was becoming more and more aware how much he was going to need these people. They all knew the name of the most dangerous assassin in the world, just off-hand. They were prepared for this. They could fight. They were exactly what he needed.

And he'd burn it down before he let them turn this into something ugly like that.

Helena snorted. "I'm on superhero probation, anyway. I can't. Asshole boyscout of the year is watching me."

Tim raised his hand. "Jason and I are good."

Jason's murky blue eyes swiveled upward, rolling as if it was the dumbest thing he'd ever heard. "Tim, just don't, okay? Just don't."

Blake made an aggravated sound in the back of his throat. "Right, right, we'll all go forward with the 'trusting each other' thing, and try to work from there, sure. Cain. What do we know?"

Tim laughed. "Well, that's the question, isn't it? Okay, so stop me if you've heard this one. There's a secret society out there dedicated to improving the world by tearing down civilizations they deem 'corrupt,' right?"

Helena snorted. "That's ridiculous."

"League of Shadows?" said Blake, tentatively.

"Your contact knows them?" Tim looked excited.

"Um, no. The Bat knew them. He was trained by them." Blake stepped back, pointing at the notebook he'd found, the one with extensive notes on all the known underworld players, the one with all the details about how to use the equipment. The only user's manual the cave had come with, really.

"Shit," said Tim.

"Language," said Helena.

"Um, no. We're in the grown-up room now." Tim rubbed a hand over his face. "Okay, so one time my family did a job for these guys, and it was scary stuff. But all that ended after they went up against the Bat, and lost. He took them down hard. There were only a couple of splinter cells left after that. One of them started hiring himself out, using those skills for money to rebuild their operations."

"And that's this guy Cain?"

"No. That was Bane," said Tim, looking down at the floor.

"Wait, Bane and Batman were… what, brothers?" Helena looked shocked.

Tim looked at Blake expectantly.

"I… don't think so? The entry on Bane just says he was trying to avenge the League. I don't know. So, Cain is another splinter cell, then?"

"Yeah. He worked with Bane on occasion, so we had contact with both of them."

Helena held up a hand. "Back up. Your family? Are we talking family-family? Mob ties?"

Tim's shoulders shrank together. "Um, yeah, essentially."

Blake refocused on Tim. "What?"

"Oh, come on," said Tim, throwing his arms out. "How else do you think I knew everything I knew, how do you think…? Seriously, man!"

Blake tried to tie this together in his head. Helena had come to Gotham to kill the mobsters who killed her family. Little Tim was part of the mob. He looked at Jason, trying to figure out what dark secrets he might be hiding.

Jason shrugged. "Don't look at me, dude. I beat up a bully one time. I don't have a dark and mysterious past."

"I think he smoked some pot," said Tim, grinning. "We'll call that his totally dark and mysterious origin story."

Helena waved a hand. "Back up, back up. Which mob?"

Tim shrugged. "Ever hear of the Graysons?"

She shook her head. "So, a hitter group?"

"Um, more or less. Mostly more. The stuff they taught me, that's mostly out of the more category. They had a bunch of other services… thieves, cat burglars, stuff. Specialist stuff."

Blake slapped his hands together. "Slow down. What do we know about Cain?"

Tim shrugged. "He's the scariest man I ever met, a fully trained assassin. He has a kid with him, and he's training her to be the world's best assassin. He plans to start toppling decadent civilizations himself. That stuff. And, um, he's scary. I think that's all."

Helena shook her head. "All right. First things first; what do we have for weapons."

Tim perked up. "Oh, you're going to _love_ this!"


	6. Chapter 6

After the Bat – Chapter 6

Summary: John Blake was given a legacy, and a city, to protect.

1.

Helena watched the skinny little teenager with the unruly hair drag what looked like two black sheets out of the mess of manufacturing equipment, and she tried to evaluate this whole situation again.

This morning she'd been ninety percent sure it was a front operation for the mob, part of the group that she'd come to Gotham to kill.

Now she was one hundred percent sure it wasn't that. It was something much stupider and more likely to get her killed.

Blake was getting twitchy, and trying to keep an eye on all three of them. He still thought he had to be in charge of this, because he'd been given the keys to the place by the Batman.

Hilarious.

Tim shook out the bigger of the two. It was a big black cape, with the end cut into the ragged edge of a bat wing. "What's this?" asked Helena.

"It's the cape," said Blake. "I took it off the costume I wear, because it's actually hard as hell to fight in that thing."

Tim shook his head. "See, that's just a lack of imagination. Jason, help me put this on." He struggled underneath the cape while Jason carefully fastened it around his shoulders. He was also putting on a pair of gauntlets at the same time. "Okay, come at me again."

Helena moved forward slowly. She'd already seen that he had mastered a bewildering variety of moves, and was fast and agile and strong. So she knew already that this was a trick, and the kind of trick she'd pull on a student to teach them a lesson.

He snapped one arm up, and the cape snapped outward suddenly, stiffening and forming. It punched her in the stomach so fast she barely saw the blow coming, though he pulled the punch and swung around, pulling the cape back away from her.

She coughed, stepping back and putting a hand on her stomach. "What is that?"

"Offensive mode. I formed this to do a half-wrap on your back with the off-attack hand and a strike pointed the same way as your attack hand. Turns from a floppy cool-looking cape into a striking weapon. And then…" He swung an arm up to guard, and this time she saw the way he clenched the hand in the gauntlet that held a sweep of cape. It snapped together into a rigid half-shield over his arm.

"Wow," said Jason. "When'd you do that?"

"Just found the thing the other day. Great stuff!"

Jason picked up the other length of fabric, which was smaller and less cape-like. "What about this one?"

Tim grabbed it. "One second, a sheet. The next…" There was a muffled thumping noise, and the fabric snapped itself straight and rigid, forming a pole. "Bo staff!"

Helena frowned. "That seems less useful than the cape."

He shrugged the cape off. "Yeah, easy for you to say. The cape takes practice, and I've already done a load of practice with my bo." He took the rod from Jason, casually spinning it around a few times. Neat and quick movements. "Anyway." There was a crackling noise, like electricity moving through the staff, and it went limp again. "So, should we go sit down over in the other room, the one with the whiteboard, and maybe work the whole thing out?"

2.

They stayed up most of the night just talking. Jason was mostly silent, and after ten he fell asleep for a while, just curled up on the corner of the couch.

Blake knew a lot of surface-level details, when you came down to it. His time as a cop had done him very well. He knew who the players were in town, knew where they were based out of, what they looked like. He was a quick study too, seeing patterns.

Helena turned out to have the least knowledge of the mob of all of them, which was a shock to her. She'd thought that her year and a half of doing nothing but finding out all she could would have left her ahead. And it probably would have, anywhere else.

It was after four in the morning, and they had pretty much figured out what they were going to do next, and how they'd try to cripple the mob and take care of the specialist hitman, when Tim asked the most important question of all.

"So, which boss had your family killed?" he asked her, as if it was nothing all.

Blake coughed, leaning back in his seat.

"What?" said Helena, surprised a little bit, but angry more than anything else. "What makes you think you have the right to ask that?"

Tim rocked back and forth in his seat. "Well, we've been discussing non-lethal ways to cripple the mob and root out some of the heavies, and set the cops on them. I've kinda trusted you enough to let you know I used to work for a bunch of hitters. We're building trust here, right? So… was it Cobblepot? Because if it was, and these plans we're making are putting you head to head with the guy you hate the worst… Blake's the one with the no-kill rule, but he's the one with all the Batman equipment and stuff, and you can see how this is all one big thing, right?"

Blake let out a long, angry breath, but didn't say thing.

"What do you mean?" asked Helena carefully.

"I mean together we stand a chance of doing this. I mean with Blake on the ground acting like a Batman replacement we can scare them. I mean if we have to let you walk away from this, we maybe don't stand a chance."

Jason sat up abruptly. "We don't stand a chance even with her, let's be real now!"

Tim gave him a disappointed scowl. "Yeah, that's not helpful."

Helena thought about it for a minute. "You have to know it wasn't him; it was the guy who came from LA, of course. Wesker. Cobblepot's from New York, with all those connections, not from the place where it all went down. I followed Wesker here, not Cobblepot."

Tim shrugged. "Yeah, I guessed that, but if you were going to play it close to the chest I wanted to pretend I didn't know so I could maybe plot against you with an ace in my pocket. Good. See? Now we know who your worst enemy is, and maybe now we'll trust that you aren't just maneuvering to get close enough to put a bullet in his brain, and we're going to need that if any of these plans are going to work."

It was getting harder to think of him as a kid. Smart, determined, and maybe just a little bit too good to be true. And a little crazy.

Jason leaned back down in the couch. "Man, we gotta take a few days off. This weekend's going to be big, right? Multiple shipments of drugs to intercept, the thing with the hitman to try and pull off—we're going to lay low the rest of this week, try to get some sleep, okay? You two can do all your training and stuff, try to get our little mini-Bat up to snuff. Right?"

Helena was surprised that Jason had managed to pick up so many details while appearing to sleep so soundly. "Sure, sounds like a plan," she said.

Blake stood up. "Yeah, plan-like. Just one thing. For all of you. What comes next is going to be hard, and it's going to be… I want to limit the risks you two take. I think this weekend you both should stay here, and Helena and I will do the legwork."

Tim shook his head. "You two know the players, but I've met them. You need me to ID some of these guys. Jason and I will keep our distance, play lookout, but you need more people to pull stuff like this off. Oh, right, there's radio stuff, too. In the cowls. We'll get that set up, do the whole operation right. Professional, okay? Is that too much to ask?"

Blake ran both hands through his hair. "Fine. Get out of here, you two. Get some sleep."

The teenagers left, heading up into the orphanage.

Blake sat down opposite Helena, groaning. "I'm not really sure why or how this got to be this way, where I can't even say no to a group of teenagers who want to make this their mission."

She shrugged. "It's not like this whole crusade of yours wasn't crazy anyway, Blake. Listen, your no killing, no guns rule, I just wanna say—"

"Non-negotiable."

"Yeah, I _got_ that." She rolled her eyes at him with all the sass she possessed. "I'm not you, though, and I'm keeping my gun. This is still your thing, your crusade, not mine. I have my own worries, my own mission, and it's on hold, not over. Tim's right; as long as you know Wesker is the guy I'm gonna kill in the end, then you know how tight a leash to keep me on."

His face had hardened. He really was going to play at being the pure and perfect knight, here to save them all without becoming as bad as the monsters out there, wasn't he?

She was ready to become just as much a monster as any of them. There was no other way to get justice for her family, no other way to set the world right. She would have to be scarier than them, scarier than the Bat, scarier than anything she knew of.

She was ready to be that, to do that.

She leaned forward towards him, trying not to scowl too hard. "The thing you're doing here, it's good, and I want to help you at it because it'll probably keep a lot of people from being killed, in the end. I like it. But this is not me. I'm not here to save lives, I'm not here to be the good guy. I'm convenient to you right now, but the day is going to come when I'm the bad guy you have to fight, you got me?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I do. I don't want that—yanno, mostly because I can't see any scenario where I beat you, when we fight. But also because you could do a lot of good."

She shrugged. "I'll do that good as long as I can. Just be aware my help comes with an expiration date, and be smart about it. Take what you can while you can."

3.

Renee stopped asking questions and started reading.

It was pretty obvious to her now that the police department was full of holes, a sieve of information. The crazy assassin had been able to find out what she was working on, able to find out her name, her rank, everything.

And he had been able to use her research to find out who the new Batman was.

That made her a part of something, a part of something big. Not a good part, either. It meant she might just be the person who doomed the new Batman.

Even if she wasn't even sold on him, she knew he was trying to do good. Stopping muggers, helping people who needed it, trying to strike fear into criminals. Good stuff.

But it was a crazy idea, trying to stop crime with more violence. People turned to crime from desperation. Give them better, safer options, give them a chance at an education, and crime magically went down. Every time.

The Wayne Foundation, there was the real reason the city's crime rates had gone down and down. Sure, Batman had helped by rooting out the organized crime elements, taking down the calcified remains of decades of rot, but it was the Wayne Foundation that built a new generation that had options besides crime.

Even if it was more fun to punch a criminal in the face than to try to build a better world.

But the assassin'd been supremely confident that letting her know how powerful he was would work to scare her, and would work to get information from her.

Mostly it made her very curious as to the exact means he had to check up on her work.

Also it made her a little combative.

It wasn't terribly easy being a woman in this police force. Let alone a women whose skin wasn't exactly lily-white. Much less a lesbian.

Some days…

So now she was reading all the official police workup on the Batman. Analysis of his unique fighting style. Records of the times that 'armies of ninjas' had attacked the city. The footage of his fight with Bane, who had trained in the same fighting style.

The reports about the recent wave of mobsters killed by swords. The microscopic evidence that it was by a weapon remarkably similar to a katana.

She did all her reading in the old records section, on paper. She made no formal requests so there was no log of what she looked at, and she carefully didn't fill out the paper logs on what she looked at. She made no phone calls, and she didn't tell anybody what she was doing.

On the third day of reading she had formed a mental picture of the relationship between the Batman and the assassin terrorizing the city that she was fairly sure was accurate.

Then she went to see Kate.

Katherine Kane was probably the ex that Renee would have been less likely to go to in any other situation. Kate was the kind of lesbian who had been born rich, and so wasn't too worried about who knew she was a lesbian.

That kind of insulation made you careless and cruel. Renee's closet was a matter of necessity, not choice.

So they weren't on great terms these days.

But Kate was also the girl who had tried to join the military, despite being rich. She wanted to do the right thing, wanted to help people, serve.

Just the kind of thing Renee really needed right now. Somebody whose motivations she could trust.

She called first. "Hey, Kate. It's Renee."

There was no answer for a second. Over the cell phone she couldn't even tell if Kate was breathing or not, or just how much of a surprise this phone call was. "Renee."

"Yeah. Can I talk to you? It's important."

"I have… no, we can talk. Can you come down to the house?"

"Sure."

Because maybe Kate was a little too insulated, a little too comfortable, but she was also a clear head and she always followed her principles. Always.

Right now Renee needed some of that.

4.

Blake spent the days sleeping or training, and the nights walking the rooftops of Gotham City, patrolling. Learning the rhythm of the streets, learning how to spot his enemies, how to stay hidden.

Jason insisted on coming along anytime Tim was along to identify people. Even knowing that Tim was a hell of a lot better at fighting than he was, the red-headed teenager always acted like it was his job to make sure Tim was safe.

And they continued to chip away at the plan.

5.

Cain looked down into the soupy green liquid, trying to make out the person lying at the bottom of the tub. "Are you sure about this?" he asked Wesker.

Wesker shrugged, wigging his fingers. "This is what the scientists say it'll take to do…this thing they're doing. The boss said to let the bald guy call the shots for now, because he's had the most experience with fighting the big boyscout."

Cain grimaced. "Always, with these boys. Always a hitch. Always some plan that rests on a crazy person, always some complicated scheme that involves levels of subterfuge and drawing your enemy into a confrontation. Never the easy way, never just killing the person you want dead. Plans like this are always doomed to fail. Wesker, you keep a close eye on this. It starts to turn on you and your boss at all, I want you to shut this down hard. Kill the scientists, burn the samples, and … well, I don't know what you want to do with the prototypes, but I'd kill them. You can keep them, I suppose, but that'll be a mistake. Yours to make, if you like."

Wesker looked at him. The fat man's eyes were gummy and red-rimmed, but behind that entirely weak façade there was a glimmer of something hidden.

Cain smiled. "Oh, yes, I can see you have your own plans already. Well, then. Good luck."

6.

It was a pretty obvious solution to the problem of Superman, when you came right down to it.

He was unkillable, as far as anybody knew. Able to hear things from miles away, able to fly, able to watch an entire city. Seeing through walls. Bulletproof.

Once you had a piece like that on the chessboard, the game was over. It was if you had a team of pawns, and the enemy had a queen. It was just a matter of time until every single pawn was picked off, one at a time, and destroyed.

So you arranged your pawns into a defensive strategy. It wouldn't save them all, but it kept most of them safe, for the moment. Then you found ways to work around that. You hid your sins a little deeper.

And you began working on obtaining your own queen.

It had been done before. Luthercorp had provided the basis for the genetic construct, the mixing of the samples stolen from top-secret laboratories with human DNA. Just enough to get it to grow.

He knew that the assassin and the fat man thought he had no idea he was an expendable cog in their plans, but that was all right. They had given him the money to build this lab, to continue to give life to these very special children of science.

And they thought they were in control of everything.

So very wrong.

The similarity between Kryptonian and human DNA couldn't be a coincidence. There was some ancient connection, he was sure. Given the evolutionary evidence that humanity had evolved from existing life, did that mean the Kryptonians had been an off-shoot of humanity? Or that they had been more alien, but had engineered themselves closer to human for some reason? Or something else?

There was a connection, something old, he was sure.

And that meant that they were close. Close enough to make this work.

Close enough to grow their own.

The only way to fight something like Superman was to have your own. To build your own, to grow it. They didn't have eighteen years to build it, so you needed to find a way to accelerate the growth rate. Get it out fully grown.

And mind control. Mind control was a big part of that—just building a second Kryptonian meant having twice as many of the damned boyscouts around. You needed one you could control.

The cloning part was easy. Any fool could do it, once you had the DNA samples from Superman and that other Super, the girl who kept running away into space for missions far from here.

The accelerated growth tank was complex, but still within the grasp of a few dozen scientists in the world right now.

The mind control, that was the thing they didn't have a good handle on. That was what they needed him for.

They were trusting him with programming a Kryptonian's mind, but they thought of him as an expendable cog. Sometimes these people were such _idiots._ They were the ones who were expendable cogs! They were the ones who didn't have the power in this relationship! They'd given him the keys to the universe, and didn't even see it!

7.

They thought they were invisible, walking the rooftops. They thought they owned this city, and that they were lords and masters.

They were foolish boys, playing at being men.

She could have attacked them at any time once she realized where they were, what they were doing. Father didn't know yet, didn't understand the patterns, but she did. She always understood these things.

They came from outside the city, driving in, and found a place to climb to the rooftops. From there they watched, from there they swooped down and intervened. From there they issued their judgments.

Agents of order, agents of law, rebuilding the city. Rewarding good behavior, punishing bad behavior.

They thought they were gods.

Once upon a time she'd been a little girl, and she hadn't believed in gods and demons. But father had taught her what it was to be a demon. He had pushed her past every limit she thought she had, he had shown her that she could do terrible things.

Now she could kill and it didn't even mean anything. She could watch the light pass out of a man's eyes, and it was just a light. Just a sparkle. Other people were only put on this world to be killed by her, and they didn't even know it yet.

But she'd teach them all, eventually.

Father hadn't seen them yet. He was too busy chasing them down from the other direction, too busy trying to use the police to do his legwork, too busy trying to listen to subtleties in the way people spoke.

She didn't listen when people spoke. All that came out were lies. She knew that.

She liked the costume. Theatrical and flamboyant and practical all wrapped up. A splash of color to let people know he meant well, a bit of face showing, but weapons in his gloves, a powerful traveling tool at his fingertips.

She wanted that, more than anything. She had to do all her climbing under her own power, all her rooftop jumping with a safety line. When she killed him she was going to steal that.

She would have taken him on any night, but the three watchers worried her. She hadn't seen them fight, and she didn't know who they were. They didn't appear armed, but she knew that could be deceptive. And they were cautious, careful, keeping their eyes open. She couldn't easily sneak up on them.

She could have killed their lone hero, the one in the streets, but that would mean showing herself to them, and if they had a gun they might be able to take a shot. Too open, too vulnerable.

So she had to ambush them.

And she knew when to do it, too.

Tonight they split up. Tonight they were doing something risky, something dangerous, an operation. They were stopping a shipment of drugs, intercepting it and leaving it for the police. Tonight they were going to deal a blow to Cobblepot's operations that he would be hard-pressed to recover from, hard-pressed to continue funding the secret parts of his organization.

And then they split up, leaving two of them to do mop-up and make sure all traces of their presence were gone, and sending two of them back home. They took the modified motorcycle, the big strange thing, and took off into the night.

She had to steal a car to follow them, but she was used to that sort of thing. She drove with the headlights off, just barely keeping them in sight. They left town, heading into a rural area. Through trees, down a back road.

Into the darkness they went, and she had to slow down till she was sure she had lost them. But they went through the waterfalls, and she saw them go.

And she knew she had them.

8.

Jason felt like his chest was going to explode. He felt like everything in the world was perfect.

Tonight had gone down perfectly. The thugs at the docks had never seen Blake coming. They'd gone down easy, and the dope they'd been smuggling in was now stalled. The cops would be all over Cobblepot.

Phase one, without a hitch. Cobblepot would be hamstrung, leaving the problem of the ninja dude.

And they'd let Jason drive the bike.

He'd wanted it ever since he saw it. He'd wanted it bad, but tonight was the first time he'd had a shot at it, tonight was the first time they'd needed him and Tim back at the orphanage by the first call and Helena had wanted to stay and help clean up.

Tonight was his night.

Brutal violence, a fast bike, and getting away clean.

"Hey, Timmy," he said, trying to get this euphoria under control. "You got any ideas for phase two? Anything special and good?"

Tim was staring at the ceiling still, trying to think about something. Always with the thinking. Too much thinking.

"Yeah," mumbled Tim. "I was thinking about…"

He turned and stared at the entrance to the cave for a long moment. Jason turned, half-expecting to see Helena and Blake stroll in, done with their mission.

There was nothing there.

"What?" said Jason.

One of the patches of shadows moved, just a fraction of an inch. Just a short movement, drawing a weapon.

Jason's euphoria was gone, suddenly, replacing by a choking, claustrophobic feeling.


	7. Chapter 7

After the Bat – Chapter 7

Summary: John Blake was given a legacy, and a city, to protect.

1.

Tim understood immediately what had happened, and why.

The League of Shadows knew who Batman really was, really had been. He might have beat all of them that came at him, but it meant Cain knew Bruce Wayne was the Batman.

An intruder in the cave could really only mean one thing.

He stopped walking, grabbing Jason by the hair roughly. "Jason, run," he said, pushing Jason back, away from him.

Jason struggled against the grip, grabbing Tim's wrist. "_NO."_

"Jason, can you trust me? Please? Can you just trust me right now, and run? Please?"

The dark shape moved towards them, out of the darkness. Tim could make out the rough shape of her now, the skinny little girl with the serious eyes, always silent, and he had seen those hands do violent things.

There was no gun. There wouldn't be a gun. Too much noise, too close to the orphanage. That would spill too many secrets.

And Tim knew too much.

"Jason, RUN!" he yelled, and threw himself at her.

His first attack was a flawless spinning kick. Twist and flow, heel flying like a hammer out of hell. She turned the blow aside with an elbow, no more effort than she had to use to knock him out of his graceful kick.

He spun and twisted and attacked again and again, trying to keep his body in perfect motion. The sweeping blows acted as shields, turning aside any possibility of attack.

Not a single blow landed.

Her style was short and choppy, elbows, knees. Close-quarter urban combat moves. Some kind of brutal mashed-up style that didn't have a name, something they had grown in their little apocalypse cult. Something more concerned with effectiveness than with pretty movements.

If she was surprised to see him again, or if she even recognized him, it didn't show on her face. He tried to remember if he had ever even heard her name, back when he was running with the mob and doing jobs for Cain, but it wasn't coming to him.

She caught the tip of his chin with a perfectly placed elbow, snapping his head back while she twisted underneath a flailing punch that should have taken her head clean off.

He fell backwards and had to twist and roll and fight to get back on his feet. How was she so fast, how could she dodge and block like that?

She advanced, but not too fast. She knew she hadn't hit him hard enough to concuss him, to addle his senses. She knew he still had fight left in him.

So she stalked forward cautiously, and drew a knife from her pocket, opening it with a quick flip of her wrist.

She had moved out of the shadows. He could see her face now. Asian features, empty, dead eyes. Cassandra, that was her name, that was what her trainer and master and probably father had called her.

She snapped a kick at him, testing his defenses. Trying to see if he would pay too much attention to the knife, or too little. Seeing if he left any openings.

He palmed the kick, grabbing her boot. A sturdy black combat boot; he pushed it away, managing to get her off balance.

She darted back and then forward, like a shot, and he felt something tug across his forearm, like the fabric of his shirt had been trapped and twisted for a second.

He danced back, snapped off a quick kick that found nothing but air.

A sharp knife, then. Very sharp. He could feel a warm, wet tingling down the length of his wrist now, but still no pain.

The forearm was a good spot to take a cut. Fewer blood vessels, most of them hidden by the bone. Not a disaster. He could still bring this around.

She threw the knife, and he couldn't move fast enough to block it. It buried itself in his neck, and all he felt was something like being slapped. He fell backwards, against the wall, surprised.

She advanced again, hands up. He tried to get his hands underneath him, to push himself up to fight, but now there was a sharp pain in his throat, now he could feel the metal, and it burned. He wanted to pull it out, but he knew that he shouldn't, it was probably the only thing keeping him from bleeding out, but it was pushing into him, pressing into him, invading his throat, and he _needed_ it gone…

She was reaching for him, reaching for the knife. He batted her hand away, lucid enough to know that this was very bad, that he was going to die.

But if he was honest, he'd known he was going to die from the moment he saw her in the cave, from the instant he realized David Cain had tracked them down. If he'd been alone he would have run, but he hadn't been alone.

Jason might live, if he was smart.

So he smiled at her as she planted a foot on his chest, locking him into position to finish him off. She froze up a little, confused.

There was a crackling noise, and she flew off him, backwards, driven back.

He could taste blood in his mouth.

2.

They had to take Tim to a surgeon. They drove in Helena's tiny VW, Tim lying in the back seat, the knife sticking out of his throat.

They put the girl in the front passenger seat, since leaving her would be murder, and Blake wasn't going to do it.

She looked worse off than he was. Tim was bleeding, and turning pale, but he was still breathing. The blood didn't appear to be running into his lungs so far. He was in pain, but he was being stoic and upright, as usual.

Helena drove, putting Blake in the back with Tim, watching him.

The girl was crumpled up in the passenger's seat, trying to hold base of the grappling hook lodged in her stomach steady. It had sliced her open along four different lines, and she was holding her guts in with both hands.

The grappling hook gun had safeties to prevent it from being used this way, to keep it from every killing a person. It didn't surprise Blake at all that Jason had been able to override it.

Helena kept her own knife in hand, just in case the girl tried to escape again. She'd been trying when they got to the cave, brought in by Jason's urgent call. Crawling, trying to get away.

Jason had tried to kill her then. But he knew better than to try to fight Helena over it.

The more fool him. She would have let him do it. She wasn't stupid about this like Blake.

Blake was on the phone with his contact in town. "A surgeon. Two if you can get them. I have kids carved up… the girl is some kind of assassin, she tried to kill him, he has a knife in the throat. She was… she's… the grappling gun. She was shot in the stomach with the grappling gun you gave me. Yes, I know you modified it to be non-lethal—the damn idiot found a way to turn the power up instead. No, it wasn't me. No. Look, I'm bringing somebody with me… No, never mind that. She was… yes. Yes."

Helena just drove as fast as her little car would go, trying to take it easy on the rough patches of road. The car stank of blood.

The girl beside her twitched, and Helena nearly stabbed her in the throat. "Do NOT move!" she hissed.

She wanted to stab the girl. Just once or twice in the ribs. The knife would go in easy enough, and they could stop worrying about the psycho killer in the car.

But Blake didn't kill.

Upright and ignorant, that was him.

There was a black van waiting for them on the edge of town. The back doors popped open as she parked behind it, revealing an old black man and a blond woman in her forties. The woman was wearing a white coat.

Just one surgeon, then. That was fine. Helena didn't really want to save the assassin anyway.

The doctor hopped out of the van, rushing up to the car. Blake was getting out, half-carrying Tim behind him. "It's through the throat, but I don't think it's nicked any arteries or veins. There's a lot of blood."

They managed to get Tim into the back of the van, and laid him down. The doors closed again.

The black man was standing outside the van, looking down into the car at the girl, who was still bleeding. There was a lurch in Helena's stomach as she remembered seeing that face before, on newspapers. That was the CEO of the biggest company in the city. Wayne's company. That made too much sense—she'd known it was Bruce Wayne who had been the Batman. Why wouldn't those closest to him be part of his conspiracies?

There was anger on his face.

Good. They ought to be mad.

He came around the car to the passenger's side, standing looking down at the girl. She was looking down, ignoring him steadfastly.

He tapped on the glass.

Helena hit the button, rolling the window down. Fox crouched down beside the teenaged assassin, looking at the mess of her stomach. "So, this is the assassin trained to be the very best in the world," he said quietly.

Helena shrugged. "You seem to know more about this than I do."

"Oh, no, I think not, Miss Bertinelli. I think not."

The girl turned her head, looking up at him. She didn't say a word, just staring at him for a couple of seconds.

He tilted his head. "Wondering about torture and revenge and all the things that you'd be doing to one of us in this circumstance? We're the good guys, Miss Cain."

"You know her name?" asked Helena, more than a little put out by this. Why hadn't anybody bothered telling her this?

He shrugged. "You know everything I know already, I think. David Cain, trying to rebuild the League of Shadows. All the deaths, the decapitations—you came very close to taking that boy's head, didn't you?"

The girl gave a little smile. "He fights pretty good," she said, in a very soft, faintly accented voice. "But he's not dangerous at all, not to me. He wouldn't, couldn't, hurt me. Not enough to stop me. Who is he?"

Helena shrugged. "Who're you? He's a kid who thought he could change the world, that's all."

Fox spoke again, his voice strained. "I felt bad enough sending Blake out to do this work. Blake is just a kid, but at least he's a grown man. Are we sending kids out to do our dirty work now?"

"No!" snapped Helena. "Tim came to us, and he's been on the bench. These bastards found the bench—she ambushed us in the cave. The cave isn't safe any more. It could be, if she was dead, and her dad was dead, but even then I wouldn't bet on it. Too many people he could have told."

Fox took a hypodermic needle out of his pocket, carefully uncapping it. "This is a mild sedative and a painkiller. It shouldn't knock you out, but it will take the edge off." He paused, waiting. "I won't—you don't have to take it, if you don't want it, but I suspect you're going to want something when the good doctor starts trying to stitch your guts back together."

The girl shook her head. "I've had worse," she said quietly. "If you stitch me up I'm just going to get free and kill all of you, and you know that."

Helena stared at the knife in her right hand. Just a quick swipe across the girl's throat—she was pale, she'd lost a lot of blood. She couldn't possibly dodge at these close quarters. No matter how good she was, Jason had nearly killed her. It wouldn't take much to finish the job.

Fox sighed. "Miss... Helena, isn't it? Please don't."

"Oh, you wouldn't?" asked Helena sharply.

"I might. But I think you know we're on a crusade of sorts here, and we're not supposed to… we have precious few rules. We break laws, we act as vigilantes, we uphold a system which could very easily turn into… into this." He stabbed a finger at the girl. "If we let ourselves become as twisted as she is, then what good will this do, what good?"

The back door of the van opened. Helena could see Tim lying there, pale, his face streaked his blood. His neck was bandaged now, and there were IV tubes into his arm. His chest rose and fell slowly.

The doctor hopped down, coming around the car to look at the girl. "Well, that's a mess," she said, peering in the window. "Can you walk, dear?"

The assassin shook her head. "I would have got away if I could still walk," she said, and there was a little bit of anger in her voice. As if she was disappointed in herself, as if she expected to be able to get herself out of any mess, no matter how bad.

It was insane to give her any medical treatment. She'd beat Tim—Helena knew better than anybody here exactly what that meant. Tim had nearly perfect form, and a wide range of styles.

Heal this girl, and she'd kill them all.

Helena's hand tightened on the knife.

Blake was staying in the back of the van with Tim. He was leaning over Tim, talking to him. The stupid sonofabitch wasn't even looking back to see what Helena would do.

And he wasn't in charge. This wasn't just his crusade.

Helena looked at the doctor, trying to take her measure. Trying to decide whether the old man would try to stop her. Maybe turn her in to Chloe Sullivan? Did these people even know Sullivan and her invincible spaceman?

And maybe it was worth it at this point. This kid was too powerful, too toxic. She'd killed a lot of people already, and she was going to kill more. There was no way to stop her, really. She had allies, she had a network, and she was trying to kill them all.

Maybe this was the right choice. Kill the girl now, let Sullivan and her morally-upright dogooders sweep in and do as they'd threatened. Go to jail, stay in jail. Was that price too high to pay? They'd almost lost Tim. Maybe it was time for Helena to do the right thing no matter the cost.

The girl made a little whimpering sound as the doctor opened the door, jostling her.

Jesus. She was just a kid, just fourteen or fifteen, tops. Taught to kill, told to kill.

Helena felt sick to her stomach.

The knife in her hand felt like it weighed fifty pounds suddenly. She was aware of the way it set against her palm, the molding, the feel of it. Hyper-aware.

One hit. Straight to the neck. Yank the knife free sideways, cutting the artery. It would be easy, like putting a knife in butter, and it would be fast.

The doctor and Fox managed to lift the assassin up out of the seat and half-carry half-guide her to the back of the van, where Blake helped lift her up. They closed the doors behind themselves again, leaving Helena alone in the dark.

Thinking about how she should have killed that little girl.

3.

Jason went up to his room and packed his bags quietly.

Then it was back down through the caves. On his way he grabbed part of a set of armor and the gun he'd modified. It used compressed gas pellets for power, so he loaded his pockets with those. He was guessing it would be difficult to find ammunition for it when he ran out.

It didn't matter.

He headed out on his bicycle, heading back for Gotham. When he saw headlights he ducked off the road into the bushes, holding the bike behind him, keeping his face down.

It took him longer than usual to reach the city, but he didn't get nabbed by Blake. Win.

He headed for the place Stephanie was stuck in. It was still pre-dawn when he arrived. He didn't have the skills to climb to her window, so he settled for tossing rocks at it until she came to the window, looking extremely irritated with him.

She opened the window and leaned out. "What the hell?"

He shrugged. "Tim's hurt bad," he said, trying to keep his voice level.

The sleep vanished from her eyes, and she spun herself out the window, descending from hand-hold to hand-hold. Not quite as smooth as Tim, but agile and quick.

"What happened? Was this you?" she asked, spinning to face him. "Did you drag him into something?"

Jason jammed his hands into his pockets. "What the hell do you think, Steph? He got all noble and stuff, didn't he? Same as with you."

Her eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Hell if I know. He told me stuff? About the circus? Said he sent everybody to jail? That's right, innit?"

She nodded carefully. "He shouldn't have told you that stuff. You should forget it. Is he okay? I mean, what hospital is he in?"

He shrugged again. He'd never really liked Steph. Too dangerous, too angry. Maybe too much like himself. "He was still breathing when they took him to try to patch him up. If he's okay, he'll let you know. I just… he woulda wanted you to know, so I'm here to tell you."

She stabbed a finger at him. "You better not have done anything—"

Jason snorted. "What? You gonna kill me if I got him in trouble? I did my best to keep him out of it, and I failed. Now, if you'll excuse me." He stepped back, getting on his bike. "I got some stuff I wanna do."

She frowned. "Stuff?"

"Some dude gave an order to kill Tim. Some short dude in a tux. And he's gonna do it again and again until Tim is dead."

Steph was pale now. "Short dude in a tux?"

"Keep your head down, don't even say his name. Don't try to find Tim, don't try to talk to him. Wait."

"Jason—"

"Nah. Don't. Gonna do the thing right."

"Jason!"

He grinned. "If Tim shows up, right as rain with just a scar to show for it, let him know he can find me in that place we met. He'll know where it is. And he'll probably be wanting to come see me."

3.

Helena paused the security footage, turning to face Blake. "So."

His hands were shaking, and he looked furious. Maybe a little sick. "How long did it take him?"

"Not long. You'd done all the ground work for him, tracking Cobblepot's moves. Showing him where and when he was vulnerable. I don't know where he picked up the piece, probably on the street."

"Play it again."

Helena backed it up to the beginning. Cobblepot leaving his club, smiling. Bodyguards all around him.

The small figure dropping from above, landing hard and spinning. He'd taken the modified full-face mask, covering his identity completely, but he was wearing his leather jacket over the bat armor, and it was terribly obvious who he was. He had a gun in his right hand and he shot Cobblepot first, spinning and firing three times. He hit only one of the bodyguards, and the other two managed to get their guns out, shooting.

He was knocked back, but unharmed, and he kept firing, dropping one, then the other. Then he spun, raising his left hand, and flew upward, seconds before the whip that had immobilized Blake the first time cracked through the air where he'd been standing.

"And that's it," said Helena softly. "David Cain probably thinks his daughter is dead, and you have her locked in a cage underneath Wayne Tower. Tim's in critical condition, but if he makes it through, the system will eat him alive—going missing, marked down a runaway at the least. Jason's AWOL, and he's decided to kill mobsters. And I'm almost certainly going to get blamed for that, and Superman is going to throw my ass in supervillain prison. Hope you're happy."

Blake shook his head. "Don't pin this all on me."

"Then who do I pin this on? If you'd had the cojones to do what Jason did when you had the chance, we wouldn't have had to try to fight Cain!"

"You know that's not true. Cain has a grudge against Batman—one that extended to all of us. Even without Cobblepot he's still gunning for us."

Helena rewound the footage again, starting from the beginning, and Blake shifted gears. "It's not just the equipment, you know."

"Hmm?"

"Jason. It's not just the equipment that let him do this. He would have done it anyway. Tim was his friend, and they tried to kill him. And Jason's… primitive, I think, that's the word I'd use. You hurt his friends, he hurts you back."

"The underworld is going to be in utter chaos. Somebody is going to take advantage of this, rise to the top. Maybe Cain." Maybe Wesker. Her stomach twisted. "No, scratch that. Cain's an assassin. He'll be gunning for you next—I assume he doesn't know I'm involved. There's been no tries on my life, and I'm out in the open in my regular life. You're totally out at this point, so we have to assume that he's gonna find you, he's gonna try to kill you… and he's going to be taking it personally, because he thinks you've killed his daughter. His _daughter_, Blake!"

Blake shrugged. There was something in his eyes, some hint of fire within, but he kept it all so tightly bottled that she was sure he was close to an explosion.

So she grabbed his shoulder, turning him around to face her. She hated people who kept it all inside like that, who hid the pain. "No, look, I can see what you want. You want to go find Jason and shut him down. No. Not yet. Not now. First, we find Cain. We have to find him and shut him down, because he is going to kill a lot of people looking for you—and maybe he'll go after Jason first, if he can find him. It's more urgent than ever. You and I are going to go arm up and we are going to find him and we are going to take him down. Then we can worry about little loose Jason. Do you hear me?"

Blake glared at her. Sometimes she could see the same rage in his eyes that she'd felt inside for so long, but right now he looked more like he might cry.

She didn't have time to try to prop up his bruised ego and keep him functioning, so she gave him a little shake. "We can worry about that later. For now, there's an assassin in this town who has a grudge and will kill everybody in this city to get to you. Bigger problems, Blake."

He nodded. "You want to try on the new armor Fox made for you?"

She squared her shoulders carefully. "Now you're talking."

4.

Renee dropped the folder on Gordon's desk. "Pull me off this case, or I quit, sir," she said, and her voice was very quiet.

He stared at it for a long time without looking up at her, thinking about it. "Is this to do with the killing at the nightclub?"

She shrugged. "More or less."

"More… or less." He still wouldn't look up at her, hiding behind his eyebrows, behind his glasses. He'd never been much good in a confrontation like this. Give him a tight situation with guns and badguys any day.

She leaned on his desk, fists pressed into the paperwork permanently scattered there. "If you want to ask me what I found out, I'll tell you, but I don't think you want to ask, and I didn't put it in that file. If you want to ask me what I'm going to do next, I'll tell you, but you really don't want to ask, and I didn't put a hint of it in that file. If you assign this case to anybody else, you are going to warn me first, okay? Because shit is going down, and I don't think you want any of this on your hands."

His hands were shaking. "Did I… is this my fault? Should I have shut him down before they pushed him over this line?"

She leaned back, spreading her hands wide. "Gordon, you trusted him, and maybe that is going to be a problem today, maybe not, but this isn't your fault. This isn't his fault. This is something else."

He pressed his hands together. "What do you mean?"

She paused, waiting. He forced his gaze up, meeting hers. She held his gaze for a moment, long enough to start making him nervous all over again. "It wasn't him."

"W-what? I saw the video. Same as the other one."

"No. Different mask, different moves, he's shorter… there's more than one of these new Batmen, Gordon, and this one's a killer."

Gordon put a hand on the file. "So why not-?"

She glared at him. "You really want an answer to that question? You can't un-know once you know."

He couldn't think of anything that would cause this reaction. He couldn't think of anything she'd want to do that would require this level of ass-covering. "Montoya…"

"You trusted me to dig. I need you to trust me a little more right now. The thing… can you trust me that much, sir?"

He wasn't sure if he could. There was too much going on now. Dead gangsters, multiple people taking on the cowl… he ought to shut it all down. He had some ideas of how he could do that, had some ideas what it would take.

He looked up at Montoya carefully. "Renee… are you sure?"

She nodded. "One hundred percent, sir. I've figured out some things—had some of them handed to me on a silver platter by a psycho fishing for answers—and I think I know what needs to happen next. But I absolutely need you trust me on this one, sir."

He took a deep breath, pulling the file towards him. "I'll put this in with the cold case files. Montoya… be careful out there."

She nodded. "Always."

5.

Jason sat on the edge of the curb, watching the cars go by. Watching the ebb and flow of the city.

It was part of the Narrows, part of the city that everybody else always called lost. They looked down their noses at it, as if it was just filled with predators and monsters.

It wasn't. There were always predators rising to the top, ready to take advantage of the vulnerable people here, but by and large it was just about survival. Laws are nothing but violence to a starving person. Why not react with violence when somebody does violence to you?

Jason watched Wesker conduct his business, and he watched the guards. Nobody looked at him. He was just a kid with red hair sitting on the corner, just another drug addict or another lookout or another slacker. Just somebody who was from this side of town.

After a while he headed back into the apartment building behind him. There were people there too, just trying to get by, just trying to survive.

This softness in him was because of Tim, because of too much time spent with that little shit and his bleeding heart. This softness was going to undo him.

But today he was sick of people making the world worse, people doing terrible things. Today they'd hurt somebody he knew and loved, and he was angry about that.

Wesker hadn't hurt anybody he loved, but he'd killed Helena's family, and she was kind of cool and had been pretty nice to Tim, given his the respect everybody ought to have given him, and so Jason had already made up his mind.

Wesker was next.


End file.
